per aspera ad astra
by Victoria Camrince
Summary: A star falls in Faerie, setting off a chain reaction that sparks throughout the continent. (or, that fic where Lok is a star and everybody flips out)
1. falling

**A/N** : This fic was written mostly because of my need to see more AUs in the fandom. To clarify, yes, this is a Stardust!AU in the sense that the Huntik characters are in the Stardust 'verse, but also that I will take some liberties with the 'verse itself. Enjoy!

* * *

A star fell. This is generally considered by all parties as a bad move and one that, if prevented, would have saved a lot of effort and energy from being wasted. But it fell, and nothing else was to be done but act accordingly.

Stars that fall in the mortal earth do so for no reason other than continuing the natural cycle of things, as no energy is destroyed nor created in the mortal earth. A star falling in Faerie, however, is a sign of change, a harbinger of things to come, for the moon never willingly parts with her children.

In Faerie, there is always a throne to be filled. There is always a chase for power. There will always be a star, falling, setting things in motion.

After all, the last time a star fell in Faerie an old kingdom regained their lost princess and the influence of the dark sisters receded. The night sky mourned, but not for long.

That star's fall marked the last time that the Wall to the mortal earth was fully opened.

* * *

This star crashed in a dark forest, ten feet away from a garden patch. They landed with their back on the floor, squinting up at the broken branches of the trees they crashed through.

 _Crashed…_

They-no, _he_ , his new thought process supplied- is now on the ground. In Faerie soil. He quickly stood up only for shooting pain to go up his left arm.

"What in the _hells_ ," he says as he flops back onto the ground. Cradling his arm to his chest, the star faintly recalls a story his siblings used to tell him when he was still a cluster of nebulae- of their sister Yvaine receiving a broken leg as a welcome to Faerie soil.

He feels a sinking in his chest as he looks around at his surroundings. He knows that when Yvaine crashed, a crater marked her impact. His landing in comparison seems to be on untouched loam- soft and warm even though sunlight doesn't penetrate the dark copse of tall trees.

A light twinkling at the edge of his peripheral vision catches his attention. Sitting innocently on the ground is the damned ring that propelled him out of the sky, a golden band with a red jewel the size of his thumb. Sighing, he reaches for it and is surprised when his right hand sparks upon contact.

He picks up the ring with his left hand cautiously, and tentatively burrows his fingers in the soil. Magic thrums at the edges of his fingertips.

To add to his uneasiness, he spies purple-flowering plants in the garden patch to his right and sees a cloaked figure stepping out of the vines. The sinking feeling in his chest intensifies as he is hit with the realization that he had the worst luck in the world.

A star landing in the backyard of a witch. A new record, and certainly one that wouldn't be marked down if he were to die in that moment.

The witch comes closer, and the star sits frozen to the spot, clutching the ring in his left hand and sends a prayer to his mother and his siblings even though they wouldn't hear and a curse to be sent on whoever threw the ring and a fleeting thought goes to his mind that at least he lives long enough to feel regret for not seeing his fallen sister before he _dies_ -

"Don't be ridiculous," the witch says, in a lilting voice that sounds off, as though she hadn't had occasion to use it. "It's just a broken arm." The witch kneels down in the soil, uncaring of the dirt. The star involuntarily flinches as his faint starlight reflects on the runes stitched in her cloak.

The witch seems to take no notice of his fear and reaches for his left arm.

"No!" The star then rips his arm from the figure's pale grasp and stumbles a few feet away. "Shit, shit, ow, _fuck_ ," he says as he cradles his left arm and prepares to run away, only for vines to shoot up from the ground, entangling his body.

The witch walks towards him as he struggles against the bonds. "Let me out!" _This cannot be my end_ , he thinks. _I fell for a reason and I will go back to the sky, I swear, I swear-_

"Calm yourself, I'm not going to harm you." The witch sounds amused, further unsettling the star. "You're scattering light all over. The plants are getting frightened."

"Oh, they're the frightened ones?" the star stammers out.

"They've never seen light before, especially one as bright as yours." The star was about to ask of the absurdity of plants growing without light until the witch softly tugs on his wrist.

"Ow!"

The witch made a humming sound, and slabs of wood appeared from the vines, bracing his left arm. He watches as tendrils of shadow slither out from her sleeves and wraps itself around his arm and shoulders, making a sling. "There," she says. "Now if you'll take care not to shine too much, that would be appreciated."

The vines retreat into the ground as the witch goes back to her garden patch, away from the star who is still staring at the sling as though expecting it to constrict around his arms.

"Wait."

The witch keeps walking.

"Why are you helping me? You're a witch, aren't you?" The star asks.

The witch stops next to a wall of creeping vines and tilts her head as though inspecting it. "Yes, I am." She runs her hand on a closed bud, streaked with white. "And you're far away from home." The nightshade flower opens, its petals a deep hue of purple, easily blending in the dark background.

The star, thoroughly confused by this event, goes for broke. "Aren't you supposed to kill me?" he says, and immediately regrets it when the witch turns to him, mentally kicking himself for being he cause of his own death.

"I'm not inclined to." the witch scoffs. "Contrary to what you may have been led to believe, not everybody wants to live forever."

The star is (figuratively, as the vines didn't seem to re-appear) rooted to his spot, unable to discern if this is a trap or practical joke. He squeezes the ring in his hand.

"Okay." The star then looks around and registers the fact that he is standing in the dark, even though he fell from the skies in the middle of the day.

"Wait, where am I?"

"You fell in daylight?"

They stared at each other.

"Yes, I fell in daylight," the star says.

"How?" the witch asks, curiosity evident in her tone of voice.

The star contemplates the pros and cons of saying anything to the witch and settles for telling her, "Something knocked me out of the sky. I need to take it back, I think."

The witch hums, satisfied with his answer. She turns back to the vines and continues to remove white streaks from her plants, which he recognized as his stardust.

He looks around at the dark forest and sees a bright ripple of stardust, glowing silver, surrounding the area where he landed. It looks as though someone threw a glitter bomb in the middle of the forest, which, considering his current state, isn't that far off from the truth.

As it seems that the conversation was over- and the witch was fine with letting him go- he would walk away, if not for the fact that he couldn't see where he was going. He considers shining a bit brighter to light up the path.

"Don't you even dare," the witch threatens, not turning away from her plants. "I've kept this forest dark for a reason."

The star sees no other option of escape. Later, he'll chalk it up as a moment of insanity, but one that may have saved his life. He will not stay in this dark forest for too long, for if the witch didn't get him, other creatures may. "Listen, I know this is probably bad form and all, but can I come in your house? I don't know my way around these parts," he hurriedly blurts out, unable to stop himself.

The witch looks at him for a long moment. The star feels the need to fidget under her gaze, although not clearly visible in the dark.

Then a golden glow emerged from under the cloak and he feels a weight on his head. It disappears after a minute.

"The star, faced with a witch of unknown power, asks not for her name or directions to go to the nearest town, but for him to be let in her home," she says after.

 _Bad form_ , he thinks. "Sorry, I don't know your customs. What's your name?"

She lowers her hood and stares at him. Through his faint starlight he could make out dark hair and hazel eyes, staring at him with disbelief.

The witch takes a deep breath, and sighs. "You have a lot to learn, it seems. My sisters call me Zhalia." She waves her hand, and the vines move around to form a path. "Follow me, and be careful to tone down your light. The residue is hard to clean."

* * *

A pale-haired woman looks up from her paperwork to the window. She sees clear skies above and thunderclouds below, and the occasional raven swooping down to the augury. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yet…

"Your Majesty, the papers?"

She looks back, and sees her quill poised over the letter she was writing, an inkblot staining the paper. "Oh dear," she says, setting the quill down. "I'm terribly sorry Lucinda; I've been distracted as of late."

Lucinda caws, and blinks a beady eye at her. "If you didn't want to grant permission for the Mountain lords to build a bridge on your lands, perhaps you should tell them in person, instead of sending them an incomprehensible letter." It was unnatural for an advisor to talk back to their Queen in such a way, but Lucinda has been with her for years now, a solid presence ever since her husband's death. She's allowed almost anything within the confines of privacy.

The pale-haired woman sighs. "They're not even trying to be subtle about controlling trade. The kingsroad is there to provide free access to any traveler crossing! Nobody will use a bridge in Farrow lake, especially if there's a fee." She stands up then, abandoning all pretense of work, and opens her window to let the chilly air in. "They'll accuse me of squandering their funds, and we'll have another farce of a war on our hands." The thought of sending out an assassin is all too tempting, but the pale-haired woman is tired of resorting to violence all the time, even though cutting the knot has proven to be more efficient than painstakingly untying it.

"For years I've watched human politics and I still don't understand the principles of your squabbles." Lucinda says. "The simple act of saying no has too many consequences."

The pale-haired woman sits on the windowsill, unafraid of falling or the strong winds scattering the papers in the room.

Lucinda flies to her lap, dark blue feathers stark in the pale blue of the woman's gown.

"My Queen, are you alright?"

The pale-haired woman strokes Lucinda's head with two fingers, lost in thought. They stay like that for a while, both unbothered by the winds.

"Change is coming, Lucinda," the pale-haired woman whispers, the words almost lost.

"As it always does, my Queen."

"We'll need to send for Solaris."

The pale-haired woman straightens as Lucinda's feathers ruffle."There's no need for that, your Majesty," Lucinda says, her beady eyes trained on the door.

The raven's voice almost trembles as she says, "He's already coming up."

* * *

The star stayed only to rest for the remaining hours of daylight. Zhalia didn't want him to stay in her house for longer, as his starlight sticks to everything he touches. "Like trailing dirt," Zhalia had said, frowning at the wisps of stardust he left in the doorway and the walls.

He busies himself by playing with Gareon, Zhalia's lizard familiar, throwing bugs around the room for her to chase and eat. He doesn't know how Gareon manages to go around the pitch-black room without hitting anything.

Zhalia's house was as dark as he expected a witch's house to be, but he found it strange that he'd be the only source of light in the room. Zhalia said that she can see normally in the dark, but the star found the need to cloak ones' self- and indeed, one's whole house- in total darkness… unusual.

As tempting as it was to just shine and see the contents of this room, he's still a bit scared of what Zhalia might do to him if he did.

Said witch emerged from the other room, a map in one hand and a cloak slung on her other arm. "This is to hide that blond hair of yours during the night," she says, throwing the garment to him. The star blinks as it catches on the jar of bugs he was holding.

Carefully setting down the jar on the table, he holds the cloak up with his right hand and examines it. It looks like a normal travelling cloak, like Zhalia's only without the runes.

"This is a map leading from the outskirts of the forest to the town of Edifier." She holds up the scroll in her hand. "It's most likely you'll arrive in the town by day, so ask around where the monastery is, and talk to the priest about schooling."

The star's eyebrows shoot up. "What do you mean schooling? I need to go to my sister-" _and get rid of this ring_ , he thinks, "Not an education."

"And you will," Zhalia reassures him offhandedly. "But only after a couple of weeks and only after you've learned how to act normal here in Faerie. I have been informed that the townspeople do not know anything about fallen stars yet. They'll assume you're a particularly strong light caster with no manners." She sets down the map on the table. Gareon creeps up on the edge, swinging her tail, clearly annoyed that nobody was paying any attention to her. "If it looks like you're trying to skip town, they'll become curious as to why."

"And so?"

"They'll think you're running away from something, come back here to investigate and burn down the house."

"They're not going to burn down your house."

"How much do you want to bet on that?" Zhalia scoffs. "Eddies are rather protective of their light casters." She levitates the jar of bugs on a shelf, putting it out of Gareon's reach.

"They won't find your house, for one." The star knows this for a fact, as the magic that seeped through the soil he landed on stretched for miles, covering most of the forest, scattering Zhalia's magical aura. This meant that Zhalia had been here for a long time, which meant that the borders were heavily enforced every day, which meant that nobody had ever crossed here without her permission. Except for him, of course, but he didn't exactly mean to cross so much as crash in her lands.

Zhalia turns her gaze from the map to him, the hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the dark, or reflecting his starlight. "You don't understand. Starlight is a beacon to all casters, light and dark, and they'll sooner find you here in this dark forest than in the brighter areas of civilization.

"My sisters will find you and not only will I have to deal with their magic in my lands," she says and the star thinks he sees her lips quirk downward in the faint light, as though the idea of socializing with other people was simply appalling, "I'll have to deal with them fighting over your heart too."

The star then shuts up about that, reminded of the fear he felt when he thought he was powerless against Zhalia. Instead of making another comment, he puts on the cloak, eliminating any source of light to be found in the room, and takes the map.

She guides him to the doorway. "Gareon will show you the way out of this forest. Do try to keep your eyes on her; the paths like to play tricks on travelers around here."

Gareon jumps down from the shelf and goes to the star, frills faintly glowing. The star then looks back at the witch, and hesitantly says goodbye.

Zhalia nods and her eyes glow golden. He feels a slithering sensation on his neck and he lifts his hands to his neck, thinking that she was going to choke him. The sensation settles loosely around his throat, and he feels the ring he hid in his pockets move.

He looks down, and finds that there is a chain around his neck, long enough for the ring attached to be hidden under his star-robes. He stares disbelievingly at the witch standing in the doorway.

"If you want to live to see your sister, go away and don't come back." Zhalia then closes the door silently, even though the star can make out the rust on the hinges of the door.

He looks again at the cold silver chain. Cat's breath and moonlight, like the one used to hold his sister. "Thank you," he says sincerely to the closed door.

Gareon nudges his foot. He then pulls on the cloak tighter, and sets out to walk.

* * *

This story will dabble in a lot of European mythology. I'm not too familiar with it, so if anybody wants to correct my Googled facts or suggest improvements, feel free to send me a message. :D


	2. going

The star arrives at Edifier on the break of dawn, the town slowly starting the day as birds sing and the smell of bread cooking wafts through the air.

He looks to the forest behind him just in time to see Gareon disappearing as though made of air. The star feels a pang of sadness in his chest at losing a familiar face. He looks up at the rosy sky peeking out of the eastern mountains, missing the presence of his siblings and his mother.

He never expected the earth to feel this lonely.

 _This must be what Yvaine feels_ , he thinks. _A pull, a call from the skies saying for her to come home_. But if Yvaine didn't find a way back after almost a century of wandering in Faerie, there was no hope for him.

The star then takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders. He'll meet his fallen sister, Zhalia had said. She didn't say it as a promise, or a foretelling, but it was enough that it was said. The star pulls his sling closer to his chest and determinedly walks forward.

* * *

"Lady Sophie, a letter arrived for you."

"Thanks." The girl takes the letter from the barmaid and sets aside her morning tea. Surprised that the letter appears to have no seal, she mutters a few words under her breath, checking to see if the parchment had any enchantments. Finding none, she opens it and recognizes the fine script, the same one taught to all members of the Casterwill house.

 _Cousin dearest_ , the letter says. Sophie's brows furrow. Why would Viviane send her an unsealed letter?

Her eyes dart throughout the letter, and Sophie realizes that it was coded, the letters slanting to the left instead of the right, as Casterwillian script does. She feels a sense of dread come over her. Sensitive information shouldn't be opened in such a public place, but Sophie sees Grace eye her from the edges of her vision, peering at her curiously while wiping down tables.

Instead, she picks up her fork and resumes eating her breakfast, reading the letter as though it was a simple correspondence.

 _Cousin dearest,_

 _The cat's out of the bag now. They're asking us to find it, and I don't know why. They've taught us to let things go ever since we were kids. Why couldn't they let the poor cat be?_

 _I wanted to know if you've seen it somewhere. Life's good here, but I haven't been able to leave the cave for days. I hope Edifier is as full of knowledge as you hoped it to be._

 _All the best,  
Anne_

Anne, her nickname. Confused, Sophie re-reads the letter. _Viviane suspects that this letter might be intercepted_ , Sophie thinks. _But why use Casterwillian script if she didn't want to be found out?_

Sophie knows firsthand how amazing Viviane is at keeping secrets and finding things, after accidentally stumbling on one of the young girl's hideouts during an intense game of hide-and-seek on the Casterwill compound a few summers ago. Viviane, however, seems to overestimate her cousin's ability to decipher her rather abstract codes.

Sighing, she puts the letter in her satchel and leaves a tip on the table. Waving goodbye to Grace the barmaid, Sophie sets track for the smithy.

The sun is just rising, the whole of Edifier not waking up until the fog coming from the eastern mountains recede. Sophie pulls her coat closer to her body as she feels the chill seep through. While used to waking up early- a hazard of studying at an inn that's busiest during nighttime- she rarely, if ever, goes out before midday.

Sophie soon reaches the smithy, and raps three times on the metal door.

The door opens, letting out blessed heat and revealing a tall horned woman, covered in soot.

"Good morning, Sabriel," Sophie greets.

Sabriel tilts her head, nods, and steps aside to let Sophie in.

There is a clean chair in the corner a respectable distance away from the heat of the forge, reserved for clients and visitors. Sophie sits down on it and watches for a few moments as Sabriel turns back to her workstation, methodically placing her tools on the table.

"Viviane sent me a letter today."

Sabriel turns around to shoot an inquisitive look at Sophie. The girl shrugs.

"I wasn't able to read it that well; I was in a bit of a hurry. But it said something about cats?" she says. Sabriel throws her a confused look, mouth set in a thin line.

This is not evident from the horned woman's features, but Sabriel had been with Sophie ever since birth and she had grown up memorizing every detail of Sabriel's face. People see a blank slate in Sabriel's features, Sophie sees an exasperated life companion.

Sabriel stares at Sophie for a few seconds. She then put back her tools where they belonged, moving the same way she did a few seconds ago, like a rewind. Sophie stands up and goes back to the doorway, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

Sabriel nudges her out, and Sophie shivers at the heat being replaced by the morning cold, and watches as Sabriel points to the monastery.

"You think Cherit will know what Viv's been talking about?"

Sabriel nods.

"You'll follow soon?"

Sabriel nods again, and closes the metal doors.

Sophie takes a deep breath, pulls out a light tome from her satchel and starts to walk, catching up on her reading on the way.

* * *

"Excuse me, my good lady," he says to a passing girl, "Do you know where the monastery is?" The girl looks up from her book, tucking a stray strawberry-blonde lock behind her ear.

"I'm going there right now, as it happens," she says. "Walk with me."

The star does. He feels a strange tug in his chest when he nears the girl, and takes this as a positive sign.

The girl goes back to reading her book. The star unashamedly stares at her, amazed that she manages to keep reading without tripping over or hitting something. "What is your business there, if you don't mind me asking?"

The star looks away, quickly formulating an excuse. "A… traveler told me to brush up on my manners," he says. "It's my first time here around these parts. I wouldn't want to seem like a foreigner."

"Everyone commits a _faux pas_ once in a while, you needn't worry."

"A pho pah?"

The girl huffs as she sidesteps, narrowly avoiding two children chasing each other. The star watches them with curiosity as the girl keeps talking. The shorter child with pointy ears runs around the corner, the tall one shouting, following behind, unable to catch up.

He turns back around only to find the girl looking at him expectantly. He tries to remember what it was she said, and fails.

"Um, I beg your pardon?" he says hesitantly.

The girl narrows her eyes at him. "I asked for your name, sir."

The star's eyes widen as he panics. It only now occurred to him that the witch hadn't Named him, oddly enough. Stars do not have names, other than the ones called to them by the mortals.

Stars didn't need names, up there.

Names are important in Faerie. Naming himself as a star would undoubtedly cause more unwanted attention, and he frantically thinks up a solution.

 _Yvaine named herself_ , he thinks. _Maybe I can too_.

He looks at the girl again, spies the stray lock of hair she tucked behind her ear. "Lok," he says hurriedly.

The girl closes her book and puts out her right hand. "Hello to you too, Lok. I'm Sophie," she offers.

The star- _Lok_ \- shakes her hand as he feels the power of his naming settle down on his aura. He shines a bit stronger and thanks the skies that the sun is up and it isn't noticeable.

He shrugs down the hood of his cloak, mindful of his left arm. He feels the sun bear down on his hair for the first time, and silently marvels in his first experience of heat, closing his eyes for a few seconds as they keep on walking.

"Oh."

He turns to Sophie, staring at him with wide eyes. "What?" he asks self-consciously. _Wait, am I shining?_

Sophie shakes her head. "Nothing, it's just…" she looks down and gestures to his left arm, still in the sling.

"Oh, I, uh… fell. From a tree," he adds, fearing that Sophie would suspect something and hoping that would be the end of that subject.

Sophie, sensing the awkward atmosphere, decides to change the topic. "I have to warn you, the monastery here in the town is more of an open school than a religious sanctum."

She gestures to a cobblestone tower a few streets away, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rustic aesthetic of the surrounding buildings. "The priests give out more lectures on magic rather than magical ethics."

Approaching the monastery, he sees no sign on its steel gates pertaining to the name of the institution, or a doorway. What he sees are windows, circling around the tower. An oak tree stands next to it, the top leaves reaching only half of the tower, some of its branches touching the lower window panes.

Sophie steps inside the gates, Lok following behind her as she prattles on about the history of the monastery, delighted to have an audience.

"This is one of the six original buildings here, standing when Edifier was founded. It's why the layout is different," Sophie explains. "The town changes, but the morals it stood on didn't, and they kept the six original buildings intact as a metaphor. Even now, Edifier is one of the safest towns for light casters and light beings." She knocks on a loose brick in the tower and steps back as the wall give way.

Lok steps inside the arched doorway of the tower, and feels rather than sees the slight hum of magic as it closes the gates and the doorway behind him.

Sophie turns to him then, smiling slightly. "Welcome to the Edithian monastery, Lok."

The inside of the tower was beautiful, in a homely way. Brown bricks make up the walls of the circular room. Several creatures were milling in the area. Lok notes a goblin reading a book with an ever-changing design on the cover and a portly man with a walking stick and a guide dog. The man stomps his feet on the varnished floor, and Lok watches as the dirt flows across the floor and out of a crack in the wall.

His sightseeing is cut short by a pull on his arm. "You'll have time to explore later. You'll need to introduce yourself to Cherit first," Sophie says, nudging him up a winding staircase.

"Who's Cherit?" Lok asks as he is led into a library that's bigger on the inside, obviously magically enhanced to fit in the tower.

"I am!" a scratchy voice piped up. Lok frantically looks around for the source of sound.

"Where are you?!" he says, leaving Sophie in the doorway to scan across the shelves and finding nothing but books and gargoyle statuettes.

A flutter of wings. Lok turns to Sophie in the doorway, her eyebrows raised. She points up, and Lok sees a huge stuffed albino bat hung over on the entrance. He has time to think that how odd it is that libraries have stuffed- and apparently animated- bats.

Lok stares at it in disbelief. "How can you talk?"

The stuffed albino bat then turns its head towards him and laughs. "Like everybody else, my boy." It- _he?_ \- flies down to Lok, who takes a step back to brace himself. "By moving my mouth!"

"Not everybody talks by moving their mouths," Sophie point out, walking towards a desk. She sets down her satchel on the table. "Some don't even have mouths. Or make any sound at all."

Cherit ignores her statement and instead hovers in front of Lok. Lok, for his part, tries not to fidget under Cherit's yellow gaze, whose eyes seem to have a hidden wisdom. "Young man, who are you, and what brings you to our humble town?"

"I'm Lok," he says. He glances at Sophie, whose eyes were silently laughing at his predicament. "And I need t- _want_ to learn more about Faerie. I'm incompetent at manners, apparently," Lok explains sheepishly, trying to move away from the shelf.

Cherit smiles, fangs and all. "You've come to the right place then. Feel free to look around; it seems I need to talk with Sophie first. Excuse me," he says, flying off to where Sophie is hunched over the table with a piece of paper.

Lok heeds Cherit's advice, and walks around the library. The library room is square, unlike the room below, and the shelves don't seem to have names. Most of the books lined on the wall are too big for him to pull down, and the interesting ones he's seen don't have titles, or titles he can understand.

A slight breeze enters the room through the open windows, regulating the musty smell of books. Lok walks over and leans on the windowsill, feeling the air flow through his cloak and star-robes.

He scans the shelves in front of him until he spies a locked gray cabinet ten paces ahead from where he sits. The cabinet looks normal and unassuming, except that the lock doesn't seem to have any keyholes, and is shaped like a cube.

Curious, he looks back at Cherit and Sophie, the former having perched on the table and the latter opening a book. Seeing that both are preoccupied, he walks up to the cabinet.

Up close, he realizes that the cabinet isn't grey, but silver, dust coating every square inch of it. The cube has runes engraved on its sides. He touches the cube, chained to the cabinet, and is taken aback when the runes suddenly shine and disappear. Lok slowly puts the cube back down, prepared to back away, only for it to levitate and separate into small cubes and stick back together, landing in his outstretched hand.

Lok shoots a quick glance at the other occupants of the room and hesitatingly picks up the cube again. There were now fifteen differing runes on five sides of the cube, small versions of the ones that used to cover it. The topside of the cube seemed to have a hole in the middle, but for what purpose he cannot discern. The chain seemingly goes through one of the small runes, and Lok tries pulling on it to no avail.

He puts the cube down on his left hand and twists the top part of the cube using his right. The runes glow as similar ones line near each other. The hole on the topside vanishes, and re-appears a few tiles away.

Lok then keeps on twisting parts of the cube until the hole appears on the place of the chain. He pulls it out, only for the chain to snap back to the silver cabinet. The resulting clang was heard by Cherit and Sophie who immediately rushed over to him.

"Lok! What did you do?" Cherit says, hovering in front of the now-glowing cabinet.

"I-I don't know, I just touched it and then this cube came out," Lok explains, holding up the lock he was playing with. "I didn't know this would happen." The cube starts to vibrate. Lok holds it still with both hands, unbothered by the heat.

"Lok," Sophie says in a deadly quiet voice. "How much magic do you have in your reserves?"

Lok turns to her then, confused. "Reserves?"

Sophie stares at him, green eyes unblinking, and Lok thinks that maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.

"Your magical reserves, Lok. Alunsina's box drains light casters of their magic in order to activate the lock," she explains, eyes narrowed at him. "They come here every day to put a little bit of light magic in there, hoping to build up enough light for it to open."

Lok wants to move away from Sophie's stare, and finds that he can't. Not in any way that matters. Lok imagines hitting the past him for putting present him into this situation.

"It's opening!" Cherit exclaims. Lok and Sophie turn to Alunsina's box, now glowing white-hot, the edges peeling off like rusted metal. The cube in Lok's hands suddenly shoots off and attaches itself to what remains of the box, as though magnetized. The box glows even more.

Sophie's eyes widen. "That's impossible. You should be dead by now, opening that by yourself…" She trails off. She stares at Lok again.

 _Why is it taking so long to open?_ Lok wonders, trying to ignore the hole Sophie is burning through his head.

"Oh, Sophie, he won't die," Cherit says, surprisingly calm. "He's not a light caster, for one."

Lok whips around to stare at him. _He knows?_ Cherit settles on top of Lok's head, wings covering his eyes. Sophie, by Lok's left, raises one arm to shield hers, the bright light from Alunsina's box steadily growing by the second.

Lok distantly remembers the death of one of his sisters, going full supernova. He doesn't want to look away.

Instead, he opens his mouth to question Cherit until an arrow cuts him off, whistling centimeters away from his right ear and lodging itself in the lightshow that is Alunsina's box.

"What the-?" Lok turns around and sees a… _creature_ , he assumes, perched on the oak branch outside. Whatever it is has dark eyes, light hair, surprisingly even teeth and another arrow pointing at them. Lok grabs Sophie's right shoulder and pushes her down, both of them hitting the ground just as another arrow flies through where their heads were a second ago.

Lok winces as pain crawls up his left arm.

"What was that?" Sophie sits up, noticing Lok's arm and being careful not to bump against it. She blinks her eyes before they land on Alunsina's box. "Oh no…"

Lok looks up to see the steady light is now dimming, as the two arrows that Lok thought was meant for them are now sucking up the light coming from the box.

Cherit flies to the window, screeching at the creature, while Sophie raises a hand, palms facing the box. Lok feels a tingling in the space behind his eyes. " **All the king's horses, and all the king's men** ," Sophie mutters under her breath.

The arrows suddenly dislodge themselves from the box and fall to the ground, shattering. The box brightens up again. Lok stands up and turns around just in time to catch Cherit, a strong gust of wind knocking them both down, and making them avoid another arrow.

The creature from outside climbs through the open window and loads another arrow. The light behind him dims, and Sophie performs another spell. The arrow falls, and the creature points his loaded bow to Sophie's head.

Horrified, Lok only has enough time to shout "Sophie, run!" before he throws Cherit to Sophie's arms and shields them, arms up, closing his eyes and waiting for the pain in his chest.

…which doesn't come.

He lowers his arms and opens his eyes to see Sophie, breathing heavily, staring at something behind him. "Sabriel!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! I only got the e-mail notifications since they don't show up when you click the review link for some reason. Trying to find that glitch though. :D I hope you enjoyed this story so far- it's also up on ao3 if you want to read it there- but I haven't set a regular update schedule yet, so the next chapter will probably show up somewhere around this week to next month. Take care (*^*)


	3. running

**A/N:** this was originally going to be a behemoth of a chapter- 6k+ words- but i decided to split it because there's no way i'm going to finish it in time. I hope you enjoyed this one, chapter 4 will come up in a few days. maybe. i'm not sure, but let's be optimistic about it! Enjoy!

* * *

"Intruders are sapping Alunsina's box! Go; go already, we'll handle it from here."

The goblin looks up from his book to the winding staircase and sees the head of the Edithian monastery, pushing two children down the staircase, the same ones that just climbed up. The boy with the sling who was eyeing him earlier is pulled by Cherit's student. Both look frightened.

He stands up then. The two were ushered to the door by Galling, the portly innkeeper. Galling's were-guide Haven ran up the stairs a while ago, sniffing out the intruder. It couldn't have been the tall horned woman that raced up earlier because she used the front passageway, which would not open for anyone with the intent to cause harm inside the monastery.

From the stairs, Cherit meets his eyes. His goblin disguise drops as soon as he closes his book, the glamour revealing his form: red hair, a dragon hide coat inscribed with protection runes, and an iron-hilted dagger at his side.

Galling hurriedly went up the staircase, green tattoos racing up his arms readying a defensive spell as Cherit flies to him. "Dante, there's a dryad husk up there. I didn't realize they were waiting for the box to open."

Dante frowns and charges up his own fire markings, unsheaths _Caliban_. Mentally, he calls out to Solwing, up on the tower aerie. He feels her fly down to the library without further ado, lightning armor already charged.

Dante had a lot of questions for Cherit, most of them starting with _how_ Alunsina's box even opened in the first place, but instead asks "Who's up there?"

"Lady Sophie's sworn saber." He nods, and moves to run upstairs only for Cherit to block him. Dante furrows his brows.

Cherit must be insane if he won't let him go up there. A dryad husk this close to the Silica and Glasshide forests means that a necromancer is behind this attack, strong and cunning enough to escape the wrath of the Sidhe- and aware that one of the oldest light artifacts in Faerie is coming into its power. An ambitious caster with a will strong enough to possess a dead dryad is a dangerous match for anyone, even for a noble's sworn saber.

"You need to send a raven to Metz. Tell him _everything_ , Dante." Cherit returns his stare, uncannily calm despite the fight raging upstairs. Dante thinks that he might be remembering the last time Alunsina's box opened, centuries ago. Still, he moves to go upstairs to offer his aid, thinking that he can send the information later.

Cherit, however, perches on Dante's head, claws digging down on his scalp.

The world goes dark for a few moments and he finds himself standing in the room of his inn. There's a slight tingling in his head from where Cherit's claws dug in, and he shakes his head to rub off the effects of the transversal. Dante goes to his table, writes up a hasty explanation to Metz and ties the letter to the first raven that passes through his window.

It wasn't until the raven flies away that he realizes that the children were in the room when Alunsina's box opened. Dante determinedly packs up his things then, his mind in a haze as he contemplates on the two's curious entrance and exit.

The girl- Sophie- was a noble, Cherit's prodigy, a member of a branch somewhere in the Casterwill family that hid underground after the mountain lords seized control over a decade ago, when witchfire burnt through the main family's defense wards for some reason. The fire consumed the whole castle, and the main family along with it.

Dante knows that the remaining Casterwill members are scattered all throughout Faerie, hiding underground. He's surprised that they even let one of their young ones- potential successors- out in the open, away from such strongholds, but he lets it be. Royals in Faerie are something of an indecisive and tumultuous unit, and one couldn't be bothered to memorize every fall and rise of their empires. The boy, however…

The boy certainly wasn't a light caster. The way he looked around at the tower enchantments earlier, like it was the first time he saw it, belied the fact. He was a light creature- probably one of the Sidhe, if the slight glow of his skin was an indicator. Dante, however, never met a fae who glows strong enough to be perceived in daylight, nor one that glows still after offering up their magic to Alunsina's box. _Unless_ the girl was the one that offered up hers, but it was unlikely that it would be any of them, for offering up too much to Alunsina's box renders anyone unconscious, even with magical auras as strong as theirs.

So who opened the box?

And why does Cherit not want him to interfere?

Heaving his bag up on his shoulder, Caliban humming at his hip, he makes up a decision to do some investigation of his own. Mourning his short-lived vacation, he sets out a path to Glasshide forest, confident that Solwing will be able to track him with ease.

* * *

Sophie didn't have to pull on Lok's sleeve for further, because once they got past the gates of the monastery they both sprinted out of there like a bat out of hell. Sabriel told them to go north, straight through the Glasshide forest, and that she'll follow them soon.

In all of Sophie's seventeen years of living, she has never known Sabriel to break her word. But she can't help worrying, for she's never seen a dryad husk enter a light monastery, either.

They run past the bakery that marks the borders of Edifier and Sophie, out of breath, casts a hasty " **Jack be nimble, Jack be quick** " on the both of them. Old Magic spells take a great deal out of her, but the adrenaline pushes her limits, and they soon find themselves sprinting beyond the grove of oak trees.

They came to rest a few minutes later, about two kilometers away from the Edithian border. Lok looks tired and pained, holding his sling close to his chest. Sophie leans on a tree and sits down, Viviane's letter crumpled in her hand as she barely had time to snatch it before they were ushered by Cherit down the stairs.

She hides it in her pocket as she catches her breath, and runs a hand through her now-frizzy hair.

Lok sits down next to her, the hood of his cloak shredded from running across the forest with magic-induced speed. His face held a few scratches. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Sophie nods. "You?"

"I'm fine." Lok takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. "Let's just… not run for a while yet, yeah?"

"Agreed." Sophie had almost exhausted her magic by now, and her legs felt like burnt rubber.

They sit for a while in silence, too tired to do anything but catch their breaths. Sophie was about to ask a question when she heard Sabriel's echoing footsteps in her metal boots. She breaks out into the clearing where Lok and Sophie rests, along with a fully-armored Sentinel- the enchanted Solwings of the famed wicker warriors of Faerie.

Her eyes widen as she spares a moment of fear, realizing that there was a wicker warrior stationed in Edifier. Whoever it was, she hopes that they didn't recognize her. She also wishes that they'd have killed the dryad husk and left the secrets of Alunsina's box in the Edithian monastery, but she knows better. The magical council of Faerie knows how to seek out and keep their precious secrets.

"I'm fine, just tired," she answers to Sabriel's worried expression. "Is the husk gone?" The horned woman nods, and gestures to Lok.

Lok manages a weak wave. "Uh, hello. I'm Lok, and thanks for saving us back there."

The Sentinel then caws at Sabriel, who looks back at the grove of trees they came through earlier. "Sabriel, there's more?" Sophie whispers.

A chuckle echoes throughout the wood. "You're damn right, there's more."

Lok and Sophie stands up, their backs to the tree. Sabriel stands in front of her lady, and the Sentinel hovers in front of Lok, armor glinting in the sunlight that filters through the trees.

Three men step out of the trees. The largest of them was carrying a gilded silver cage strapped to his back and a quiver of Void arrows on his hip, used mainly to absorb light magic. The other two were bare-chested, with burns all over their skin. One had a pack, almost bursting in its fullness, slung in front of him. Both had two longswords strapped to their backs, and all three of them had a vee-shaped horn tattoo on their right shoulders. Bounty hunters, pirates from an organization that specializes in collecting light magic and selling it to the dark children.

They looked strong, and while Sophie is confident Sabriel and the Sentinel can fight them off, both were exhausted fighting off the dryad husk earlier. Sophie can't help, because any offensive magic she throws at them will be absorbed by the moonlight cage, rendering her powers null. She was better off not doing anything, but what was she supposed to do?

The man with the silver cage stepped forward, hands up in the air in a show of reassurance. "Now, now, we don't mean any harm to the lady. We just want whoever's been opening the box."

The other two turns to Lok who was glaring at both of them. Sophie feels a wave of relief followed immediately by panic. Cherit had said that Lok wasn't a light caster, but a light creature, which means that if they're planning to harvest his light, they'll do what Alunsina's box failed to do- kill Lok.

The bounty hunters stand still then, feet apart, ready to spring. Sabriel moves to shield Sophie with t he bulk of her armore, but before the three could jump toward them; she casts one last spell- the only one she could think of. " **Now you see me, now you don't!** "

The bounty hunters shout as her legs give out from under her, hands holding onto Lok's and Sabriel's arm. Sabriel steadies her from the arms. Lok almost screams out from the sudden blindness, but Sabriel manages to put a hand over his mouth. Silently, she drags them both away from the bounty hunters.

Eyes still closed, Sophie sends her sight inward. There were gaps in the mesh of her aura, and she knows that it will take at least a week to completely replenish the light she used up.

She just has enough to turn her sight outward, feels the people's magical auras in lieu of sight. The invisibility spell renders normal sight useless anyways, as it bends all light. She senses Sabriel's familiar magic wash over her as her sworn saber lends her a bit of strength.

She senses the near-blinding aura of Lok, interspersed with a red light emanating from his chest and wonders what kind of creature he is, to have such an abundance of light in his being. Wonders if the moonlight cage would even hold all of it.

She spies the Sentinel up above them away from the area of her spell, sending out lightning charges to the scattering bounty hunters, and leaving the smell of ozone in the clearing.

She feels the hunters' auras, like smoke tracks clinging to walls, and signals for Sabriel to watch out as their magic suddenly spikes.

She has enough time to send out a prayer as the hunters' magic, dark and choking even from this distance, coalesce together. Sophie feels a strange feeling climbing up her throat and fights the urge to vomit as their magic pulses in front of her.

From the man's pack steps out another dryad husk.

Dread clings to Sophie like it never has before, because it is looking directly at them, all jerking movements like a puppet. Lok dims next to her and the air feels too thick, too thick to breathe and she feels weak and she clutches Sabriel and Lok and she can't stand this-

Then she sees fire.

* * *

The Solwing fires a ball of lightning on the dryad husk, along with the ball of fire that came from absolutely nowhere. Henry watches as the flames consume their creation and the smell of burning rotten wood fills the clearing.

 _Damn it_ , he thinks, shifting the weight of the silver cage, _we traded a boatload of elemental scrolls for that thing._

The red-haired mage who threw the fireball steps out from the grove. The Solwing perches on his shoulder.

"Did no one tell you that it was bad to cut down trees?" the mage quips, petting the armored eagle. Henry sneers as the re-charged Solwing flies to where the light casters are hiding and throws a defensive shield upon them.

The mage continues to talk, but he sees Steven and Jaden prepare the spell that they perfected months ago, a non-verbal incantation that breaks their opponent's bones, rendering them incapable of using their magic or magical weapons to the full extent.

"You oughta learn how to watch your mouth, mage." Henry then unleashes the spell in the mage's direction.

It was a thing of beauty, really. Tried and tested on every mage that disagreed with their tactics and beliefs. It would land on the mage's hip, or their arm, or their head, and he and his brothers would have fun at the funeral, taking whatever's in the incapacitated mage's pockets. Mages don't bother to learn past what they read about in their books, their offenses and defenses, standing still to the side and letting their magic work for them.

Mages were weak in Henry's opinion. The strengths of the elements mean nothing when a single kick could topple them off their feet.

And thus, great was his surprise when the red-haired mage stepped aside the invisible spell and vanishes. He feels a push behind him as he falls to the forest floor, the silver cage a heavy weight behind him. He turns his head and watches as the mage dodges a punch from Steven and grabs his fist, using the movement to throw him over his shoulder, on top of the silver cage. Henry grunts as he hears Steven break a bone.

Jaden unsheathes his longswords and slashes them at the mage while his back is turned. The mage then jumps backwards over him, his feet glowing with magic. Then he unsheathes his own weapon, and Henry feels his blood run cold as he recognizes the trademark iron hilts of wicker warrior daggers.

"Jaden!" he screams, muffled as it is by the soil.

Jaden's eyes widen as the wicker warrior blocks his parry, the little blade somehow having the strength to push back the silver blades. The wicker warrior counters his left slash with an elbow at his fist, disarming him. Henry watches as Jaden is kicked into their pile, and he quickly mutters a transversal spell as his brother lands on top of them.

The boss man won't forgive them for this, Henry knows. But he'd rather go back to the quiet life in the skies harvesting lightning with his brothers than whatever riches light magic had to offer. Wicker warriors and sworn sabers weren't part of the deal, and the boss man can shove his opinions right where the light don't shine.

* * *

Galling has spent the past hour in confusion, sweeping up the dead dryad ashes into a crematory jar. Cherit has left him alone while he seals the monastery passageways closed, leaving Galling with his unanswered thoughts.

Earlier, he saw Haven fight with a Sentinel who burned the dryad husk before flying out the window with the sworn saber. At this, he wasn't surprised. Galling's senses might be a bit impaired after the siege of Mount Arc, but he knows the aura of a wicker warrior when he sees one.

What he doesn't get is why he left without so much as taking a look at Alunsina's box. It was one of the oldest light artifacts, relics during the era of the Old Magic, when the borders between the mortal earth and Faerie were still open and magic flowed abundantly throughout the realm instead of being a limited resource. Now it's just sitting there, open, its secrets there for anyone to keep.

Surely, that was the wicker warrior's mission- to collect Alunsina's box and transfer it to the council. There was nothing else in Edifier that was worthy of the council's notice. The town was famous for being the safest place for light casters, but aside from that Edifier was a boring old patch of land- a pit stop for the kingsroad leading to the southern kingdoms, flanked by the Glasshide forest of the Sidhe in the north, the dark Silica mountain range in the east and the great lake of their neighbor town Farrow.

So why leave?

Galling can't help the strange twist in his gut as Haven noses at the jar on his lap. The _dryad husk_ , of course. Unsettling business, necromancy is. The disturbance of eternal rest is an unforgivable offense in the council's eyes, and the wicker warrior probably went to avenge the violation of the dryad's body.

He stands up. Haven, sensing his intent, goes off ahead to find Cherit. He needs to return the ashes to the Sidhe for a proper burial. Wouldn't do to suddenly piss them off.

 _And as for the box…_

He turns back and examines it, a cubed thing made of dark wood, gleaming silver curling around the sides, forming the design of a woman with the skies in her hair like a mantle of storm clouds. The windows are heavily enchanted now, and not a single intruder can get in without Cherit's consent which means that it would be safe leaving the box there.

The woman has a slight curve of a smile on her silver face, like she saw the whole world and was amused by it. Galling refuses to go anywhere near her. He heard the drums earlier, when he went up to fight the husk. It'd been a long time since he heard the drums.

And he's unsettled by the storm clouds, for a reason he can't seem to remember.

"Change is coming," he says instead. Alunsina doesn't respond.

He takes the jar and closes the door.


	4. thinking

**A/N:** Terribly sorry for the late upload, just got back from a trip with the family. That, and I've been putting this off for days because I didn't know whose POV I'd write in during sequencing. Heads up for the crazy formatting somewhere at the end, I promise you that it's intentional. Enjoy!

* * *

"You're a _what_?!"

Lok flinches. Sophie's voice echoes throughout the room, surprisingly loud for someone who just woke up. "Keep it down, will you?" They were currently inside the heavily-enchanted monastery, where earlier Sabriel had carried an unconscious Sophie and the warrior ( _Dante_ , he had introduced himself, strangely smelling of smoke) had carried him.

To say Cherit had worried when he saw their tired state is like saying that a star falling in Faerie is a hazard. That is, an understatement.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sophie asks, using her indoor voice this time. "Do you realize what could have happened? And- and the _box_ \- do you realize _what you did_?"

"Not really, no!" Lok exclaims. He wants to stand up from this comfortable chair and get away from these people, get away from this monastery and this town, but his body screams in protest every time he moves. "All I know is that I'm supposed to be learning about Faerie customs. No one told me that people would be after me." He glares. "Or that you would blind me."

"You're a _star_ ," Dante points out, "it's a given that everyone would be after you."

"And the blinding was only for a second," Sophie says reproachfully.

Lok groans. _But Zhalia said that nobody had yet found out that I'm here._ Sophie shakes her head and leans back against Sabriel.

"Is that your purpose here?" Cherit asks, perched on the arm of the sofa next to them, "To learn about Faerie?"

"No," Lok asks. He thinks of the ring he's obliged to carry, of the witch in the woods who found him, and decides that he can keep some of his secrets. "I wanted to find my sister and bring her back. I heard she was in Stormhold."

Cherit looks at him strangely, as though he had a question that he didn't want to voice out. Lok fidgets under his yellow stare.

"Your sister?" Dante asks. He was smoothing out Solwing's flight feathers on his lap, Solwing's headgear discarded next to him. "I thought you were the only one that fell."

"Yes, but Yv- _she_ fell years ago."

"Yes, I remember the sky mourning before," Cherit mumbles, now looking towards the windows, strangely pensive. "Well you can't go to her now, my boy," he sighs.

Lok sits up straight. "What do you mean I can't go to her?"

"Metz told me that the kingsroad has flooded due to unusual lunar activity. There's no straight way through the southern kingdoms now," Dante informs them. Lok even dizzier and leans back on his chair, processing this information.

Cherit nods. "There was talk of building a bridge over Farrow Lake," the star wearily turns his head as Cherit continues, "but the Queen of Stormhold hasn't approved yet, probably because the mountain lords were planning to put a fee on it."

"She'll have no choice but to approve now that there's no other road going into their kingdoms," Dante pipes in.

Lok overhears Sophie viciously muttering something that sounded like 'plucking mitten lords'. He doesn't know what that's about.

"But when will the bridge be finished?" Lok asks.

"Not for another month," Dante says. Lok closes his eyes. "Or maybe even more. The night sky mourned last night, that's how the others knew that a star fell." He gestures to Alunsina's box, gleaming mockingly, the woman on the side eyeing everyone else in the room. Lok was trying very hard to ignore its existence. "The bounty hunters were probably eyeing that since."

"You're sending Alunsina's box to the council, Sir Vale?" Sophie asks tentatively, staring out at Dante from under her eyelashes. He doesn't know what that's about either, but Lok feels a strange stirring in his chest nonetheless.

Dante doesn't seem to notice. "No, Metz said that he'll send someone to collect it here. For now, my priority is tailing after Lok until he completes _his_ purpose."

Lok eyes widen at this casual statement. "Wait, what?"

Solwing flies to the table, landing near the box. Dante stares at him, amber eyes boring into Lok's head. Lok gets the nagging feeling that this has happened to him before.

"You're a light being, a strong one at that, and dangerous people are after you. The council takes care of their own."

Lok doesn't know how to react at that piece of information. There wasn't a Faerie council back when Yvaine fell. Sophie and Cherit are both staring at him, Solwing seems to be occupied by Alunsina's box and he doesn't even know if Sabriel has eyes- yet he feels tense anyway. The room is silent for a few moments as he tries to think.

He thinks it'll be okay if Dante were to come with. He'll be protected from anyone attempting to harm him, and he has a better chance of getting into Stormhold if there was a wicker warrior to vouch for him. Still, he remembers the stories of his sister, of witches and thrones and candles. People joined her in her purpose, and people died for her purpose. He knows, however, that the people in this room won't let him leave without them, even when faced with the threat of death.

He turns his gaze to Sophie's slightly judgmental stare, then to the smiling woman in Alunsina's box. He doesn't know which is more unsettling.

Lok sighs, giving in. Dante takes this as an agreement and nods, satisfied.

Lok stands up and goes to the table, his glistening star-robes scraping the floor. The cloak Zhalia gave him was shredded during their chase, and the people in the room already knew where he came from, so he deemed it safe to show off. The star-robes were dirt-repellent anyway.

"What's inside this thing, then?" He gestures to Alunsina's box.

"That _thing_ ," Sophie says, sounding affronted- "is only one of the oldest light artifacts in Faerie." Somehow she finds the strength to stand up. Sabriel holds out her hand but Sophie waves her off, walking to the table.

"No one knows what's inside them, just that they were left by King Tristran of Stormhold, almost a century ago." Solwing hops closer to her, nuzzling Sophie. "He said they were of the Old Magic and that we would have a need for them when the time comes." Sophie strokes Solwing's neck. "I guess that time is now."

"Well then, why don't we open it?" Lok asks as Sophie pulls the box closer to her.

"We did try earlier, Lok," Cherit says, flying to them. "It won't op- _well_."

Sophie sets the top half of Alunsina's box on the table and reaches inside.

"Maybe it only opens for nobles." Dante chuckles, walking to the table. Sabriel stays seated, sharpening her saber, uninterested in the box.

All four of them ogle at the metal sheet that Sophie extracts from the box. The silver design on the box moves, rearranging itself so that as the woman- Alunsina, maybe?- puts her hands to her face, shoulders heaving.

Lok nudges Sophie. "You made her cry."

"It's a passing enchantment, Lok. And I'll put it right back," Sophie offhandedly remarks. Alunsina removes her hands and stares at them.

The metal sheet Sophie pulled out was a small, unremarkable thing. It was rectangular and smooth- about the size and shape of a thin journal. A piece of dark glass is embedded on the front. Sophie put it to the window, and the sunlight showed the transparency of the dark glass, revealing a green tint.

Dante raises an eyebrow. "Strange. Must be some kind of magical mirror." He peers inside the box and finds it empty. "Is that it?"

Alunsina turns to him, her sky-hair gleaming with something like stars or thunderclouds. The top half of the box suddenly comes back on, leaving Sophie holding the silver sheet.

Dante blinks, and manages a bow. Lok thinks he looks silly, bowing to a box like that. "I'm sorry for any offense I might have caused."

Alunsina turns her head away from him. "Does this happen all the time?" Lok asks Cherit, referring to the autonomous way that the silver moves.

"Yes, it does. Even in different forms, women always manage to be confusing," Cherit answers, referring to the affronted way that Alunsina acted.

The silver box gleams suddenly. Cherit hurriedly bows as well. "I'm sorry for any offense I might have caused."

Lok coughs, hiding his laugh. Alunsina winks at him.

"There's something around here," Sophie says, still holding the sheet. Her left hand glides over the sides and stops. "Raised points. Do you know what that means?" She turns to Dante, putting back the silver sheet into the box.

"No, but I think I know someone who might."

* * *

Scarlett is securing the last of the entrances to prepare for her sisters' funeral march when she feels it.

A sting in the air.

She closes her eyes and extends her perception, through the sycamore trees surrounding her glen, beyond the surface of the purifying lake, over the trail of moss that is the funeral march's path and sees through the petals of a forget-me-not flower.

Four figures were standing near a boulder, one of the closed entrances. Scarlett knows they can't get in without the Queen's permission, so she isn't worried about them intruding on the funeral. Instead she checks their magical auras for clues.

One was too bright to even look at directly, sometimes too white and sometimes mixed with a line of red light. Another one of the moon's children, unfortunate enough to be carrying another jewel for another throne.

 _The sky is mourning_. Scarlett understands.

Another was a very faint red dawn, like an omen climbing up a hill, warning of rains to come. The aura flows between one figure to the other, taller one, beside them, connected but unbounded. The other figure didn't have an aura for themselves. A noble, with a sworn saber by her side, which means a higher form of royalty than a simple lord or lady.

And the last one was earthen, cardamom and the scent of the sea- strong and grounded. It would have been alluring had she not sensed the iron on his person, a glare that makes her want to jump out of her skin.

A wicker warrior. She recognized his aura, from one of her travels in the South.

Scarlett retreats her perception, and finishes the last enchantment on her area before transversing to the faerie ring. She lets down the glamour as soon as the warrior blooded his thumb and placed it on the hidden rune on the boulder.

"Dante of the Wicker Warriors," she greeted. "Put your weapon away."

He complies, sheathing his iron-hilted dagger in his left arm. Scarlett can feel the weapon morph as it enters his skin, and the sting in the air lessens to a slightly uncomfortable atmosphere. Dante nods to her.

"Scarlett of the Fae. We are sorry to have intruded in your time of mourning, but this is an urgent matter that concerns all of Faerie." He gestures to the figure next to him, the one with the bright aura who was glowing and staring at her (or rather, at her chosen form- the one that Dante would be familiar with, red hair and fair of face) as though she was the dawn.

She returns the star's stare. "Normally our Queen would receive you, but grief is a heavy burden to bear. We cannot spare a thought for anything else."

The noble speaks up. "Pardon, but Alunsina's box has opened because of _him_." She inclines her head. "Surely, this should be of some note to your Queen."

"Change does not concern the Sidhe." Scarlett says. She lets out a trickle of her influence, the magic pressing against her chosen form. "We have been here before the light artifacts were made, and we will be here long after they are gone."

"I've avenged the deaths of your kin," Dante reminds her.

"And that is why I have answered your call," Scarlett replies. Dante was as righteous as he was handsome, and she knows he would've avenged them, without thought, with or without the permission of the council. But to use it as _leverage_ … "However, you speak to me of the star's purpose and not your own."

A movement from the side. The star seems startled. _Does he really think that the glow and star-robes won't give him away?_

"How did you know what I am?" _Apparently he does._ The star's eyes widen, blue eyes like stark forget-me-nots blooming in his face. Faintly, she is reminded of a newborn doe and thinks that this star might be a bit younger than the one that fell years ago.

"I crossed paths with your sister when she fell. She had done a great service to me and thus I helped her in her purpose. You, however, have not done any harm or good to the Sidhe." Scarlett watches closely as the star's glow dims. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, at all."

"The star's purpose is also my mission," Dante pipes in.

"A mission given to you and not one you'd freely take," Scarlett dismisses. She feels a tug by her feet. _More intruders?_ "If you'll excuse me, the funeral's about to begin."

"Wait," the noble stops her. "Do you know of any magic mirrors from the time before King Tristran of Stormhold died?"

Scarlett pauses. "Yes. What of it?"

"Alunsina's box contains what we suspect is a magic mirror-"

Scarlett shakes her head, cutting off whatever the noble was about to say. "If it fit into Alunsina's box, then it isn't the magic mirror I know." She leaves them to join the funeral march, leaving them with what small protection wards she could spare in lieu of Dante's boon.

* * *

"Wow." Sophie looks around the now-empty clearing. "That was useless."

Dante runs a hand through his face. "I was hoping that they'd allow us passage through their liminal spaces, get to Stormhold in no time." He glances aside at Lok.

Lok is now leaning on the boulder, head hung. They left the monastery after lunch, and the midday light shining through the trees was now the main source of light after Lok dimmed.

Sophie asks, "Lok, are you okay?"

"…she said she met my sister," Lok mumbles, almost too low to hear. "She did something to warrant the help of the Sidhe, when she fell. I could have asked something about her."

"You don't know what happened to your sister?" Sophie asks disbelievingly. "But, the stars observe, don't they? That's what we were taught."

"The stars shine. And yes, we do observe. But I was still a cloud of nebulae when my sister fell, so I don't know where or how she is faring right now except for what my family told me."

"Nebulae?"

"Nebulae is what you call starstuff, barely formed."

"Oh. Well, what did your family tell you?"

"That the last place she went to was in Stormhold."

"Stormhold," Sophie repeats. Lok nods, growing quiet and staring at his hands.

Sophie doesn't understand Lok's apparent sadness. Surely he didn't expect life on Faerie to be easy? Magic is now a precious commodity and the beings that have magic as their actual lifeblood have become more shut off as an act of self-preservation.

And Stormhold, as Sophie remembers from what her tutors had taught her, was a controversial place before and after the magic drain. Its stronghold was located at the top of the highest mountains in Faerie, with the storm clouds that gave its name ever-present at the borders of the castle walls.

Before the magic drain, Stormhold banned the Old Magic within its walls after the disappearance of their sole princess. After the magic drain, it is the remaining place in the whole of Faerie that has magic still flowing freely among its subjects instead of being confined to royalty and magical beings themselves.

After the death of King Tristran almost a hundred years ago, the throne has been succeeded by Queens, all who make sure that the magic in the kingdom doesn't go out of the borders. Nobody outside Stormhold has seen the current Queen, but she's as stringent in the rules as her predecessors. Lok would no doubt be let in if he introduced himself, but Sophie doubts he'd be as easily let out. Stormhold is a complicated puzzle, a problematic thread in the history of Faerie.

 _Complicated puzzles…_

Sophie slips a hand in her pocket and feels the small slip of coarse paper. She still wasn't any close to knowing what it actually meant, as Cherit assumes that the codes was probably something only a Casterwill would know.

Sophie doesn't particularly remember what Viviane meant by the cat, even when exhausting her remarkable memory. She might have to reply soon enough, with reassurance that she doesn't know anything about … whatever Viviane's been talking about.

She contemplates writing it and convincing Dante to send it by Solwing (she was sure that Dante would allow it, as she was a magical noble, and she can't help imagining just how dearest Anne would react to her sending a Sentinel) until her thoughts were interrupted by the aforementioned Sentinel's caw as it lands on Dante's outstretched arm.

"There are bounty hunters outside the borders," Dante says. "They didn't look like the ones from before, so I'm guessing they just found out about it from their networks."

"What are we going to do then? Fight them?" Lok asks. Sophie shakes her head as she checks her magical reserves, still running dangerously low. She still feels physically weak so she can't fight back, and she can't use even a smidge of her power for if her reserves run empty, she will be magically null and be effectively non-magical for life. Sophie's as powerless as Lok now, leaving Dante, Sabriel and Solwing to fend off the attackers.

Dante frowns as Solwing flies away, agreeing with Sophie's unvoiced thoughts. "They'll overpower us too quickly to even contemplate fighting back. What we need is to escape from Edifier, but there isn't a liminal space available for crossing now."

Lok frowns as well, the slight downturn of his lips unsuited to his beautiful face. "What is a liminal space?"

"It's places in Faerie where the roads turn as they wish. They're the preferred path for magical beings to go through, seeing as it can get you from one side of the continent to the other in an instant," Sophie explains. "All liminal spaces are guarded, and mages can't go through without explicit permission from the guardian."

"Who guards the liminal spaces?"

"Magical beings."

"Light or dark?"

"All of them," Dante replies, tapping his left arm where _Caliban_ is. He doesn't unsheathe it, seeing as the thin wards put up by the Sidhe- a faint smell of honeysuckle left in the air- would be rendered null by the iron.

"Nobody can get in, you say?"

Sophie sighs. "Again, Lok, no- they can't get in unless the guardian allows them."

Lok blinks. "So why are you preparing for a fight, if the bounty hunters can't even get to us?"

"We're not in the liminal space. We are, in fact, outside the liminal space."

Lok holds his sling loser to his chest. Belatedly, Sophie thought they should've had that healed when they were still in Edifier, but Cherit had insisted time was of the essence, and that Galling was the one who had any healing expertise in the monastery. The portly innkeeper had scheduled a week off as soon as he went back to the monastery, just as they were leaving.

Dante, grim-faced, turns to them. "We'll go through Silica forest, then."

Sabriel looks away from where Solwing was hiding in the trees to Dante. Sophie is frozen in her spot as she feels a pit gnawing in her stomach. "Dante, we can't," she pleads.

"We have to," he replies. "It's the only liminal space remaining in these parts. Besides," he adds, smiling slightly, "it won't hurt to try right?"

"I would think it could. Silica forest it's-" Sophie twists her wrists, "it's off-limits for a reason! And what about Lok?"

"What about me?" Lok pipes up, head still switching back-and-forth from Dante to Sophie. "What does the forest have to do with me?"

"The guardian of Silica forest is a witch, Lok." His eyes widen in response. "I take it your family already told you what witches do to stars." Lok looks down at his sling then, presumably lost in thought that Dante basically suggested leading him to the slaughterhouse.

She focuses on Dante who was still scanning the clearing, posture tense, red hair blazing in the midday sunlight as though about to burn. Her gaze goes to his left arm, with no visible sheath under his coat, and Sophie imagines that the steel must be uncomfortable on bare skin.

"They're here."

"Let's go there."

Dante and Lok turn to each other, and Dante nods his agreement to Sophie's horror. "Did your family _not_ tell you what witches do to stars?" she asks Lok.

"They did," he admitted, "but… I just have a feeling, okay?"

"That feeling is the gaping void in your body where your common sense and self-preservation ought to be," Sophie says in an accusing tone. "This is insanity!" Sabriel nods.

"It's the only plan we have." Dante signals to Solwing, who flies off from hiding to the direction of the eastern mountain ranges.

Lok keeps on talking when Sophie feels a disturbance at the edges of her perception. The bounty hunters' auras weren't like the ones that attacked them earlier but are fundamentally the same- choking and irritating her sixth sense. However, they were muted, and Sophie closes her eyes and leans against Sabriel, borrowing her strength.

 _There's a light. A shining light coming from them. It's not theirs, and it's not an aura, but it_ is _magical…_

She opens her eyes and feels her sixth sense snap like a rubber band. "They have Alunsina's box."

Lok stops talking and turns to her. "What?"

 _Caliban_ springs out from Dante's left arm. Sophie feels the faint protection wards drop at the same time, like a curtain suddenly falling. Lok dims.

Sophie senses the bounty hunters turn to their direction. Dante's fire markings light up through his coat as five of the hunters burst through the clearing, one carrying a silver cage containing Alunsina's box and another, a limp white thing…

"Oh no," Sophie whispers, as Sabriel moves to protect her. _Cherit._

* * *

 _Father,_

 _The sun never shines down here, but I do not need to see the sky to know that she is mourning. Just when I had thought that life couldn't get anymore monotone, it comes around and proves me wrong._

 _I know that this would impede your travels. Though you are welcome to pass through my borders I also know that you'd reject my offer, like the thirty seven times before. I still do not understand why, you've never been afraid of the dark, nor the things that the dark contains (and sincerely, you have admitted that your daughter is the most dangerous thing you've seen, and that you'll never be afraid of anything ever again) but I must allow you your eccentricities as you have allowed mine._

 _The flowers are blooming quite splendidly. I thank you for the fertilizing powder you sent, they seem to have taken quite a liking to it. I've sent you a basketful along with this letter (with the blooms preserved, I do hope you'll remember how to undo the charm) to help you with your studies. Enclosed is the journal with my day-to-day observations, illustrated and in block letters to make the reading easier on your aged eyes._

 _I will pay a visit soon, I think. There has been some unsettling news passed on from my sisters, and the Sidhe mourn as the sky does. It'd be wishful thinking to say that you wouldn't know anything about it, or that you haven't had an indirect move in this matter._

 _Do take care until I get there._

* * *

Gareon, where is Strix

 _They are occupied by a rather delightful skirmish outside our borders._

Well then. Tell them to send this letter to my father after they've finished watching

 _They sent me here to ask you permission to intervene, Mistress._

They will as they do

 _They've already been assisting. They want_ you _to be the one to intervene._

Leave the woodland creatures be. I've told Strix to stop pairing them up years ago

 _It's not a forest fight, Mistress. The star has returned, with company._

What

 _They are fighting off bounty hunters, from the looks of it._

Are you sure _we're_ not the ones being hunted

 _One of them had a light cage, so yes. I am sure that we're not the ones being hunted._

That star's more trouble than he's worth

 _You should have carved out its heart when you had the chance._

Again with this nonsense

 _The star fell in your_ own backyard _! Your sisters wouldn't have known about_ anything _!_

Then I'd live forever and where would we be

 _You'd have a bigger chance of finding a way out._

There is no way out, Gareon

Mistress…

Where are they

 _Near the sycamore by the Glasshide borders._

Who did the star bring

 _Aside from the hunters? You'll have to see for yourself._

You'll need to curb this attitude of yours

 _You need to be surprised more often, Mistress._

* * *

Oh

 _I told you so._

Not even past a day and the star's already made friends

 _You expected anything else?_

I didn't expect a noble and a wicker warrior, for one

 _And he's still wearing that ring. Shouldn't he have gotten rid of the thing already?_

Certain things need to happen yet. The ring has a curse escape clause

 _Nobles and their succession rites. Well, are you going to help?_

There's a wicker warrior _right there_ I doubt they'd need it

 _Mistress, isn't that the head of the Edithian monastery?_

{Hey! We got in! Dante, come on!}

{This is strange. This is really, really strange. First the Strix, and now this.}

{What is, Sophie?}

{We got past the borders without permission, Lok. That shouldn't happen.}

 _This one has rather clear thinking for someone who barely escaped a life-and-death situation._

{We can't get through. Just stay there, both of you!}

{Here? On the witch's territory?}

And she can sense us up here. Impressive for someone whose aura is stretched that thin

{Sabriel, look out! Lok, where are you going?!}

It seems the star has a name now. Do you think the noble- this Sophie- named him

{Off to do something insane. Do you want to help me?}

 _It seems probable._

There's a shift, like water being displaced to make room for rocks. Zhalia looks down at the raging fight below, feet dangling off a large branch. She covers herself in the shadows and waits.

"Look Gareon, they're planning to take the silver cage," she says in a low voice, pointing to Sophie and Lok, who were eyeing the cage carried by the biggest hunter, a silver box and the head of the Edithian monastery being jostled in it.

Gareon climbs on her cloaked shoulder and makes herself comfortable. "They aren't able enough to carry an object of that size without magic," she mutters.

A tree's running root suddenly grows a few inches. One of the hunter's ankle hits it, ruining his momentum and allowing a single moment for the wicker warrior's fire blast to hit him in the stomach. The Strix immediately fly away, almost bumping into the Solwing, diving down to peck at the straps of the hunter with the silver cage.

Gareon thumps her tail. "I'd rather know _how_ he convinced them to come here, not _why_ ," Zhalia replies. "And how this Sophie got past my borders. The star's been here before, but she hasn't stepped ten feet near the farthest tree from my borders." A slight rustle on her shoulder.

The Strix take to buzzing around the fight, hesitant to fight with Zhalia now watching them. A nearby rosebush's thorns elongate and gouge deep in one of the hunter's knees. It retracts as soon as he collapses in pain, the straps on his back slacking.

The silver cage falls, within arms distance from Lok and Sophie. She sends a slight nudge in the Strix's direction, and they rush off to help Sophie's sworn saber, trying to land a sting on the hunter.

Gareon nuzzles at her neck. "Fine, go on. But don't be seen." She jumps into the fray and vanishes mid-air. Zhalia senses her as she helps push the silver cage to a heaving Lok and Sophie, trying their best to pull the heavy object past the border.

Sophie looks like she would be better off sitting down, but Zhalia knows she won't leave Lok's side seeing as he and the flaming warrior were the only sources of bright lights in the forest. They managed to pull the cage out of the reach of the fallen hunters, trying to open it and free their- mentor? - And the box.

A few well-aimed fire spells and slashes and the hunters were all on the floor, groaning. The tall saber turns to Sophie, trying to find a way past the borders. Zhalia was about to drop down and kick Lok and Sophie _out_ of it, until she feels one of the hunters crush something in his hand. The Strix fly away from him.

"A draining orb?" she whispers to herself. This is apparently a new fad throughout their organization, what with even the lower-ranking bounty hunters somehow convincing people to let them use dark powers at their disposal.

She watches as the hunter shakily stands, rubbing the soil of his hands on his jeans and puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

In a split-second, she knew what would happen. He would stagger and feint a punch to the warrior, who would then sidestep him, take his wrist and break it, robbing the hunter of any use of weapons and or magic for a few days. The warrior would brush the hunter's skin with his bare _fucking_ hands…

She sends vines to immobilize their companions, to their outcry. She doesn't bother entangling the saber, however. Zhalia knows she would cut through it easily.

Transversing in front of the warrior, she takes the hunter's fist in her gloved hand and twists it with a certain amount of force. He cries out in pain and flailingly sends a kick at her legs. His foot passes through her enchanted cloak. He looks up, spies the tied-up warrior behind her before focusing on her face, hidden by the hood.

Zhalia knows that he's just realizing who she is. She can read his mind, after all.

She then kicks the back of his knees, making the scared hunter kneel. Grabbing his other hand, she pins both to his back, holding it in place as vines cover him. She calls up a few of her poppy flowers from her gardens which bloom in front of the five hunters, instantaneously sending them into a dreamless sleep.

The Strix automatically move to dispose of the sleeping bodies outside of the borders as she turns to the others. A snap of her fingers and the vines covering the rest run back to the ground.

What the fuck was that _/ is she the witch of the Silica Forest? /_ Oh thank God she's here _/ That was rather unpleasant /_ Lady Sophie is okay at the moment _/ What is she going to do /_ I knew this was a bad idea _/She certainly took her time /_ What's going to happen _/ Viviane's letter! Oh, it's still here /_ that was rather quick _/ what a show-off /_ is there going to be more dramatic entrances

Zhalia turns off her sense of touch and the voices become blessedly quiet. She can sense all of their stares at her, and Gareon is still sitting invisible at the corner, being sneaky.

She'll address all of them, as soon as they get off her property, but first things first.

She strides over to the star waving to her and lowers her hood, staring at him with all the cold anger she could muster. "What part of 'go away and don't come back' did you not understand?"

* * *

I hope that I got the portrayal of the Sidhe right. Feel free to review/ PM me for corrections. :D


	5. meeting

**A/N:** Oh my God, did this take a long time to finalize. There might be some proofreading errors still scattered around. Please review. :D

* * *

Dante flexes his wrists, breaking free of the vines as they slither back to the ground. Rather unpleasant business. It's been a long time since he's been surprised enough for anybody to render him immobile. Staying still, he watches as the surprisingly agile witch in front of him holds down the hunter and flicks her hand, sending the Strix flying to the motionless bodies and half-carrying, half-dragging them away from the scene. _What the fuck was that?_

A glance to his left reveals Sophie leaning on the overturned silver cage, bracing as Sabriel slashes away at the shields, the golden saber bouncing back as though hitting solid air. He is still at a loss as to how she and Lok managed to get through to the other side unharmed, but he'll puzzle over that for another time, preferably after Lok's safety is secured.

However, the damned _child_ is making that job all the more difficult as he waves at the witch with a smile on his face, glowing, prominent in the dark shade of the Silica forest as though he was facing a friend and not his potential murderer.

Solwing perches on the branch above him, out of his sight. [I have the Arclight, Dante.]

[Just a few seconds more.]

[Make haste, my beak is burning.]

Recognizing the star, the witch quickly strides over to him, ignoring Dante behind her. Dante silently motions for Sabriel to move out of the way. [Now, Solwing.]

An orb the size of a quail egg lands on his outstretched left hand. It was cruel to let Solwing- or any other magical creature- carry the magic draining orb, but they needed the Arclight badly. It will absorb what's left of the witch's powers and her reserves, freezing her in place long enough for him to drag Lok away from her. He'll have to fight her then, and even though he hates fighting people older than him, he'll compartmentalize enough so that his mission wouldn't be compromised. They'll just have to maneuver through the liminal spaces, after. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it was the best chance they all had.

The witch lowers her hood as Dante aims.

"What part of 'go away and don't come back' did you not understand?" _Don't._

Dante falters. Years of instinct had come barreling like a wave, the heavy, permeating scent of magic clinging to the forest hitting him like a wet carpet. He wonders why he didn't sense it before.

Too late, he realizes that the Arclight is no longer clutched in his hand, but is sailing through the air, tapping the witch's cloaked elbow and interrupting her and Lok's conversation with a muted _thud_ as it rolls on the forest floor.

Sabriel pauses mid-slash, moving away from the Arclight's path. Both Lok and the witch fall silent, glancing at the Arclight rolling to a stop in the grass before turning to him.

The faint mid-afternoon light filters through the boundary between the Glasshide and Silica borders, enough for him to make out the witch's indifferent expression. As befitting the manners of a wicker warrior, Dante manages not to gape as he sees her clearly.

He didn't expect the fearsome witch of the Silica forest to be so young. She must have not been exposed to any sunlight in this dark forest of hers, as it's the only thing that Dante can think of that would justify her inexplicable youth. The Arclight would have absorbed any glamour.

Dante tries to compose himself. "Greetings." The branch above him rustles as Solwing ruffles her feathers, either in indignation or amusement. The witch raises an eyebrow.

"You must be Dante Vale," she said without inflection, unimpressed by Dante's aiming skills. Or, lack of it, at the moment. Her non-threatening stance and his manners were the only things keeping him from diving for the orb and throwing it again, to see how she'd react.

Dante nods his head in acknowledgement. "And you are the guardian of the Silica forest." The witch's face stays carefully blank. "We appreciate that you spared us still, having thought that you would have had us killed as soon as we stepped in your borders."

"You seemed to be doing fine on that front, why should I bother?" she says, and Dante bristles at the implication. He wouldn't have led the children into such danger- at the doorsteps of a witch, no less- if he didn't have any choice. He did have a plan going in, after all.

[Yes, a very well conceived plan with no consequences or loopholes to speak of.]

Dante walks over to Sabriel who resumed at taking down the shields, blatantly ignoring Solwing.

"Still, that was amazing," Lok remarks to the witch, apparently making no move to step away from her. "I knew that you were strong, but I didn't exactly expect," he waves his uninjured hand, " _that_. You're even stronger than Sophie!"

There's a loud _clang_ as Sophie pushes the cage into an upright position, blatantly ignoring Lok.

"Did you actually learn any manners while you were out there?"

"…not really? There wasn't any time…"

"You were gone for two days. One would think that was plenty enough time."

"Certain events happened that were out of my control."

And why is he still addressing the witch? In such an informal manner as well!

"You're from the skies, a shining beacon of trouble for kings to follow." The witch shakes her head. "And now you've brought that trouble here."

Lok runs a hand through his locks. "I truly am sorry for that. We didn't really expect them to follow us, Zhalia-" everybody turns to look at Lok with incredulous faces, "but we did come here to ask for a favor, if you would grant it."

Sophie puts her head in her hands. "Oh, Merlin."

Dante feels the tell-tale signs of a headache. He should have known. There was no way Lok would have willingly come into a witch's territory unless he knew he won't be hurt. And the witch gave him _her name_ … "How did you meet?"

"Don't, "the witch- Zhalia- protests before Lok cuts her off.

"I crash-landed in her backyard. She did this," he gestured to his injured arm, "then sent me off my merry way to Edifier."

Crossing her arms, Zhalia turns a level stare to Lok, who immediately shut up. The shadows of the forest seem to surround her features, making the blank expression grim-looking.

"Luck's on your side, if you managed to walk away from her with just a broken arm," Dante says.

"She didn't br-"

"I'd rather you start your lectures and hasty explanations _outside_ of my borders," Zhalia says. Her eyes glow molten gold, and several roots transforms into a net under a shocked Sophie, trapping both her and the cage, before the net levitates outside of the borders and into the brightest patch of sunlight. Sabriel sheathes her saber, knowing she can't cut through it without harming Sophie.

It only takes a second to unsheathe _Caliban_. "Drop them immediately."

Zhalia shrugs. The vine vanishes in mid-air, sending Sophie tumbling to the moss-covered ground. Still, she manages to break her fall with a tuck and a roll. Thank Merlin that the girl had the good sense to wear riding trousers on this journey.

Sabriel runs to Sophie's side, and Zhalia's eyes turned back to their normal hazel. "Leave."

"Not without answers," Dante says.

"You mean not without you getting what you want."

"How does Lok know your name?"

"He asked."

Dante frowns. "He's been here before?"

[Well, obviously. ]Solwing says, as Zhalia had chosen to raise an eyebrow in response to his question.[ Can't you sense the forest being unsettled?]

[No, I can't.]

[Well it is, look at the boy's feet.]

The soil around Lok's feet is dusted with streaks of silver-grey, as though his robe was trailing moon powder. A quick glance at his surroundings revealed the streaks were everywhere, faintly glowing in the darkness. If Lok was leaving a trail like this all along, there was no wonder how the bounty hunters found them.

He can see how it might be inconvenient to a witch who thrives in the dark, but Dante still doubts that the witch let the star go just because he was messing up the dark forest aesthetic.

"I ask you again, leave. The forest holds no allegiance to you or your quest."

Lok's glow dims minutely. It seems he really did expect her to help them… because she made him a sling?

[Because she _spared his life_. Do try to think straight.]

He stares at Zhalia's retreating form. It was something else, that she would have let him go especially since no one would know that she would have acquired a star's heart, let alone be aware of a star falling in daylight. Was it because she was still young and thus didn't need the youth from Lok's heart? Maybe she had acquired the previous star's heart and hasn't used it all up yet. But Lok implied that his sister was still alive in Stormhold, so that couldn't be it.

Then again, Lok didn't mention that he landed in a witch's territory. [I don't think I can.]

[Oak and fucking ash, Dante.]

"Wait," he says. The witch keeps on walking, the runes in her cloak glinting like a warning. "In exchange for your help, we would offer you a favor." She stops in her tracks. _Aha._ "Would you help us?"

"The council could do no favors for me that I can't do myself."

"Mine, then." He ignores Solwing's scandalized caw above him and rolls his left sleeve up, the faint sheen of his fire markings lighting up as he sheathes Caliban, the blade going under his skin and into the runes painlessly.

"Dante, what are you doing?" Lok asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"What he does best, willingly crossing the line of fire." Sophie puts a hand on Sabriel's arm, preventing her from stopping Dante as she figures out Dante's plan. "Wicker warriors have poor judgment, apparently."

Dante ignores them all. Zhalia turns around slowly as she considers his offer, and walks until she is only an arm's length away from him. A pale hand shoots out from under her cloak, tendrils of gold-and-green magic encircling her fingers like rings. Her eyes glow gold-and-green, and he tilts his head down a bit to hold her gaze.

Stare into the void, and the void will stare right back. He rolls up his right sleeve and holds it out for her, waiting for her to say the binding words of a Vow.

Instead, she takes his arm and he takes hers, the contact making his skin tingle. He spares a glance at his arm to see if his fire markings had somehow activated. They had not.

He looks up as she tilts her head. "What would you give me?" she asks.

"A favor of your choosing." This reply was standard, so as to avoid any accidental curse escape clauses. The tendrils of magic run up her fingers and Dante can feel the slight charge of magic as it skims around his arm.

"Are you currently on a quest?"

"We are."

Zhalia hums. "A call, then."

Dante was about to question it further when a voice appears in his head. _The first magic-void object you acquire on your quest, you give to me. No matter what it is._

His agreement reaches her mind before his lips. The magic settles around his aura before he utters 'yes.'

She steps back then, and Dante spies a confused Lok off to the side. Solwing somehow had perched on Sophie's arm without him noticing, both of them giving him reproachful looks.

"And what is your desired favor?" Zhalia asks.

"Passageway through Silica's liminal spaces," Dante says, looking back at her.

"You'll leave tomorrow then. Follow the path that Gareon will lead you to and nowhere else, understood?" She transverses away, leaving the smell of ozone in the clearing.

"Gareon's here?" Lok asks.

"Who's Gareon?"

Dante tunes out Lok and Sophie's banter as he stares at the trail Zhalia had previously walked. Something isn't right. He squints at the forest floor once more before Solwing digs her claws into his shoulders to steer him to the path pointed out by a green lizard- Gareon, apparently.

The forest is dark, but Dante could have sworn that he saw the faint marks of blood, right there by the sharp-looking rocks where Zhalia had stood earlier.

* * *

The moon hangs low and dim in the night sky, her children hidden by a shroud of darkness.

Solaris flaps his wings and glides, the relative darkness hiding the sheen of his golden feathers. He feels the loss of the moon as though it were his own. Losing two children in a course of a century is a hard thing, even for something as eternal as celestial beings.

He had but one purpose here on Faerie, and he failed.

Most guardians would have at least made sure that their charges were safe and sound, and Solaris cannot even sense where Altair has landed, or where he is right now. The moon and her children had not seen him anywhere at night.

And as for Betelguese…

The faint blue sheen of Lucinda's plumage glints in his sight. Pulling his wings to his sides, he nosedives and opens his wings at the last minute, landing noiselessly on the lamppost where she was perched.

"How is Queen Catherine," she asks in greeting.

"She has finished passing the necessary correspondence for the bridge. That idiot queensguard of hers surrounds her tower and palace at all times, so she might be delayed in meeting us here."

"You think she might use a Babylon candle?"

"Doubtful. You've taught her how to transverse, have you not?"

"She can't take to the mortal spells as easily as other creatures do."

"Dearest moon, we never had these problems up there."

"You'll have to get used to being unearthly," Lucinda says. "It's not like we can go back."

"Aye, that's the bit." Silence, then- "There she is."

Lucinda cranes her neck to see the miniscule glow moving through the streets. A well-cloaked Queen Catherine, lantern in hand, expertly evades her patrolling queensguard, aided by the streets of Stormhold.

They watch as the brick layout of the streets shift, letting the Queen enter an alley that wasn't there previously. Michel- whom Solaris notes as the most observant member of the queensguard- peers into the street where she turned and sees nothing but a dead end.

The streets shift once more, giving way for a straight path to the far edge of the wall surrounding Stormhold.

Solaris flies away from the lamppost, Lucinda following stealthily behind him. Over the roofs of the merchant district, above the glen and to the great wall of Stormhold, they swiftly turn to the side and dive into the thick copse of trees, to the moss-covered part of the wall.

Leaning on an oak tree is Queen Catherine, panting, forehead pressed to the wood. Lucinda swipes down as Solaris scouts the area for any observers. No one seems to have taken notice of them.

The magical output in Stormhold is now the strongest in all of Faerie, and the ancient wood here hums with power, weak as it was. Solaris still remembers a time when he could transform anywhere and anywhen, absorbing magic and dispelling it in equal amounts around Faerie. Lost in nostalgia, he absentmindedly shifts into his human form, with Lucinda following.

"My mother cannot help us in our travels," Queen Catherine says, grounding his thoughts. "She fears the unicorn might be too conspicuous, attract the wrong attention as it did before."

"What about your leg, your Majesty?" Lucinda asks, turning her head to Catherine's direction. She had always preferred her human form to be blind, uncomfortable to the light input.

"It'll be fine. And you should stop calling me that," she says. "I will be Queen no longer once I step outside of Stormhold's influence."

"Another name, then?" Solaris asks.

"The people outside can't know that the Queen has come out of the palace, so yes, another name." Catherine looks excited at the prospect.

"I can barely keep your titles straight as it is. Why not stick with Catherine? It's not like anybody knows what the current Queen's name is," he says. "Even if they did, they'd just think you have the same name, because Moon forbid that the Queen of Stormhold willingly step out of her borders." Lucinda slaps his arm.

Solaris flinches as he rubs the sore spot. He forgets how sensitive mortal casings are. "The wrong people might form the right conclusions, Solaris. Let her pick a new name for herself," Lucinda says.

Catherine huffs. "Would a diminutive of Catherine satisfy you?"

He considers it for a moment, and nods.

"Cathy, then. Now open the passageway, the night sky doesn't hide us as well past midnight."

If someone had been looking in that area of the wall, they would have seen a glowing figure, accompanied by orange-and-blue humanoid shapes, phasing through the wall as though they weren't solid.

But none were looking, and so they went.

* * *

The first thing Cherit registers upon stirring is a sense of calm, magic surrounding him from all sides. Everything felt warm. Floating. Nothing could harm him here.

Everything seems alright now. He stretches and silently yawns, going back to sleep.

The motion reveals a faint coppery tang of blood in his mouth as he comes to a slow realization. The pain numbing magic recedes from his system as well, making him very aware of the numerous bruises he recently acquired. He stirs as the light dims to accommodate his eyesight.

Not wanting to risk his injured state, he doesn't get up from the bed, instead trying to figure out where he is. The adjusting light must mean that he is in a mage's center. But what normal mage's center would have _magical_ pain-numbing pillows, and why would his captors send him here to recover?

 _The box!_ Cherit closes his eyes and activates his titan sight, taking inventory of where he is. He lets out a breath of relief as he sees Dante's aura in the corner, asleep with Alunsina's box in his lap. He extends his perception easily enough, and is surprised when he sees the bright glare of Lok's aura some distance away from him. Farther along and he sees Sophie- aura pulsing with its new wards (and how those came to be, Cherit still doesn't know) and getting brighter.

He slowly retracts his perception, amazed that it didn't tire him out like it used to do. It was relatively easy to get used to seeing things from many perspectives that when the vision of a hundred is sent back to the vision of one, a backlash occurs.

However, he feels no backlash, not even a slight snap. His perception eases back into him easily, and as he swaps out his titan sight for his normal one he spies a human woman at the doorway, a glass of water clasped in her hands.

"You're finally awake," she says. The woman doesn't have the bearings of a medical mage, nor is she dressed for it, her dark dress a far call from the light greens and blinding whites of medical clothing.

Dante stirs and Cherit watches as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. The light in the room gets brighter as the woman hands him the glass of water.

The mineral water soothes his parched throat. "Many thanks," he rasps.

"You had us worried for a while there, Cherit," Dante says. His dragonhide coat is draped over his chair. "It's a good thing those hunters tracked us down as well, otherwise we wouldn't have known that you'd been captured."

"A stroke of luck. Wait, where exactly are we?" The window is located to the far left of his bed, and he reasons that he _is_ tired, more content to stay in his bed to fly over and check outside.

"Silica forest," the woman murmurs, looking amused.

"What?" Cherit sits up instantly, only to lie back again as his wings twitched, protesting the sudden movement.

Dante sighs. "Cherit, this is the guardian of the Silica forest, Zhalia." He gestures to the human wo- well, fae, probably, if she was a guardian. Zhalia nods her greeting.

"We thank you for the sanctuary you have offered us, my lady."

She raises her eyebrows at the title. "Do not give thanks for a temporary offer."

"Alright then," he says. "Where are the others?"

"Lok is reading on the balcony, and Sophie, Sabriel, and Solwing are in a purifying pool, replenishing their reserves," Dante confirms. "Speaking of, we should probably let you go there as well, as we're about to leave in a few hours."

Cherit groans as he sinks deeper into the pillows. "I suppose it would be rude to take advantage of Zhalia's hospitality for longer, damn my old age."

It might be his imagination, but he catches a ghost of a smile pass her lips as she leaves the room, taking the glass of water with her.

Turning back to Dante, he asks, "What did the bounty hunters want?"

Dante takes his gaze away from the doorway and meets Cherit's eyes. "I was hoping you that you would know the answer to that," he says.

He walks to Cherit's bed and lays Alunsina's box on the table, absentmindedly tracing the silver edges. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I was in the library when the wards resounded. The shields should have repelled them away from the monastery, but they had draining orbs with them.

"My spellwork was flimsy, I admit. I was still recovering from the transversal I gave you and the containment of the light artifact's magical signature, that when they drained the wards I had no choice but to physically charge. I managed to lock the library as well as knock out one of them, but they took a cudgel and hit me by surprise.

"Then I woke up here," Cherit says, minutely shrugging. "Tell me the rest."

Dante relays the story of their journey. He was getting to the part where he bargained with Zhalia when a sudden noise from the doorway interrupts his story.

"Cherit!" Lok and Sophie cry out in unison. They immediately run to tackle Cherit on the bed, Sophie's hair tickling his wings, still slightly wet from her earlier dip.

"This is nice and all," Cherit says. "But you do have to let me breathe some time."

The two profusely apologize as they set Cherit back on the pillows. "How are you feeling? Did we break anything?" Lok asks, blue eyes wide.

"I'm fine." Lok seems worried still, eyebrows furrowed, but Sophie has already nodded and moved her attention to Alunsina's box, opening it again. He made a mental note to send a raven to the council telling them that the box wasn't in Edifier anymore. Sophie pulls out the mirror from earlier, wiping its surface with a handkerchief.

Dante sits in the corner, amusedly watching Cherit as he assures Lok that he is in fact, fine, and yes, he can't sit up straight because his wings ached and no, he wasn't a bat, and he hasn't broken his wings, and such.

He didn't sense Zhalia entering the room until she says, "Where did you get that tablet?"

She was looking at the mirror in Sophie's hand. He sees Sophie's grip on in tighten. "We're not particularly inclined to tell you," she says, eyes narrowed at Zhalia.

Oh dear. Cherit wonders what happened between them, but decides to intervene before his student further antagonizes the person providing them sanctuary.

"She means that we don't know what it is, since we found it just yesterday," he remarks, "but we suspect that it might be a magic mirror."

Zhalia looks at the mirror with an unreadable expression. "Well, you're not wrong. It is a magic mirror, of sorts." She reaches for it and Sophie reluctantly hands the mirror over.

"Do you know how it works?" she asks.

"I do," Zhalia confirms. "But if this artifact is what I think it is, then it won't work here or anywhere in Faerie. It's not magic void, but it might as well be," she says turning the mirror over to where Dante was sitting.

She runs her fingers on the sides of the mirror and pauses over the raised points Sophie had pointed out before. "It doesn't drain magical essences, but it won't work in the presence of any magic either. Sad, really. Now it's practically usele- and, _wow_ am I wrong," she says as she looks down; face suddenly illuminated by the light emanating from the mirror. "I am very much wrong."

Sophie's the first one to jump up and go to her side, previous anger forgotten. "What did you do?"

"Turned the damned thing on," she asnwers.

They both stare at the mirror, their faces illuminated by white light, then blue, before their faces are awash with something resembling natural light. Dante and Lok give each other looks, neither getting up to see what the fuss is about.

Sophie's brows furrow. "It doesn't look like a mirror."

"It's a tablet, not a mirror."

"But you said-"

"A mirror _of sorts_. Like this." Zhalia swipes her finger across the mirror's surface, and Cherit squints as a bright light is directed his way.

"Wait, that's Cherit!"

Another swipe and the light disappears. Sophie blinks, taken aback by something in the mirror- er, tablet. Zhalia turns the mirror to its sides. "Smile for the camera."

Sophie complies, even if obviously confused. A mechanical clicking sound emanated from the tablet. "Oh! That's… us?" Sophie asks, squinting. Zhalia nods.

Cherit couldn't take the curiosity any longer. "Let me see what that's about."

"Don't touch the screen." Zhalia gives the tablet to Sophie who plops down on Cherit's bedside, pointing at the tablet. Lok scoots over and his eyes widen fractionally as he stares at the image presented on the screen. Cherit feels his jaw drop.

The tablet didn't reflect his image, but instead shows Zhalia and Sophie, frozen still from a moment ago, Zhalia staring straight while Sophie's gaze was slightly lidded, as though she wasn't sure where to look.

"What is this?"

Zhalia comes over and swipes the screen again, as though throwing away the image. Sophie almost drops the tablet as it suddenly reflects the three of them.

Dante is watching them intently yet still doesn't make a move to approach them.

With a sure finger, Sophie clicks a small grey circle at the button of the screen. Another clicking sound, and the reflection of them (Cherit with wide eyes, Lok's squinting stare, and Sophie's slight smirk) is frozen. Sophie swipes at the screen, and oh, there it is. Or rather, there they are.

He touches the device and frowns when he doesn't sense any magic around it. How did it take the… portrait, then? This portrait is clearer than any paintbrush could have imitated.

Lok is the first to ask. "How did…? What kind of magic is this?" Cherit nudges Sophie, who hesitantly hands over the tablet and hungrily eyes it as Lok shows it to Dante.

Zhalia scoffs. "It's not magic, nor is it powered by it. I've only ever seen it in scrying pools, but I gathered enough to know how it works." She sends a chilly look at the tablet, still in Dante's hands. "Those aren't supposed to work in Faerie, or be in here at all."

Sophie's head snaps to Zhalia, leaning on the doorway. "You said _those_. There are more?" Zhalia shrugs.

"Probably. I can't tell you until you tell me where you found it."

Dante hums. "These aren't found in Faerie?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"Not really."

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours. It's only a fair deal." Dante sends a half-hearted glare her way. Looking back-and-forth between him and Zhalia, Cherit suspects that there's a part of the story he isn't privy to, but well. He'll save it for bugging Dante later.

Besides, he feels like Zhalia is not telling the whole truth. Secret-keeping is normal for fae folk, but Cherit can't shake off the feeling. Instead, he clears his throat to get Dante's attention, motioning for him to tell her the truth.

Dante sighs, giving in. "It's one of the light artifacts from before the magic drain. That… tablet, as you call it, has been around Faerie for over a century, inside Alunsina's box." He pats the gleaming box on the table. Alunsina winks at Zhalia, who stares at it in confusion.

She doesn't seem to be surprised. "Well, to answer your question, yes, there are more. But they're from the mortal side of the Wall."

"Beg your pardon?" Dante asks. Cherit's raised eyebrow mirrors Dante's. No one has called the Earth 'the mortal side of the Wall' for decades now. He wonders what her actual age is.

Zhalia doesn't seem to start at the slip. "The mortal Earth," she says.

Lok immediately flinches away from the tablet. He must've known that going to the mortal Earth will turn him into nothing but a big lump of stardust. Sophie, however, fixes Zhalia with a steady stare, the one she aims at Cherit when she finds something particularly interesting in her studies.

If she's unnerved by everyone's stares, Zhalia has yet to show it. "It's simple technology. And that," she points at the box, "is not Alunsina."

"What do you mean by that?" Cherit asks.

She walks to the box, confusion still evident in her features. The silver image of Alunsina complements the storm clouds brewing all around the box, lightning streaking around it. Cherit wouldn't have seen Zhalia's flinch if he wasn't observing her intently, and the blank look of Dante's face meant it didn't escape his notice either.

"Alunsina governs over the first glow of the dawn," Zhalia murmurs. Alunsina looks over her, smiling a rather genuine smile in comparison to the mischievous ones she kept flashing in the monastery. "Did you open this?" she asks, turning to Lok.

He nods. "Completely by accident, but hey."

"Of course, he's an evening star, and I suppose the box would have reflected that. However…" she raises a hand, glowing green-and-gold, and runs it over the flat surface cover of the box.

All of a sudden, a soft light breaks through the storm clouds in the box, and wisps of a pink and orange dawn seep throughout the box like milk in a cup of coffee. The silver image of Alunsina suddenly- for a lack of a better word, Cherit supposes- fades, turning into clear glass, the strands making up her hair reflecting the pearlescent glow of the dawn covering it.

"Wow," Lok blurts out.

"Ah!" Zhalia immediately takes her hand away from the box as though she was burned.

"Let me see that," Cherit says. He takes Zhalia's palm and sees a scorchmark, as though she pressed too hard on the corners of the box. He turns her palm around and feels no traces of the magic she used under her skin. "The box is magic-void," he concludes. Dante's eyes widen.

"Dante, look out!" Sophie cries out in alarm. Dante and Zhalia both take a step back as glittering black ink pours out from under the box. A glass bottle flies from the shelf to the table, and another, and another, until the glittering black ink is safely enclosed in the three glass bottles, floating in mid-air.

Cherit turns to Zhalia, who in turn looks at Sophie, whose hands were glowing softly, keeping the bottles of glittering black ink in the air.

"Nice reflexes," Zhalia says.

"Thanks." The bottles were replaced in the shelf. Lok looks lost in thought until he surprises everyone by snapping his fingers.

"That was nebulae!" he says, pointing to the bottles.

Dante takes a bottle, twisting its neck around and swirling the glittering black ink inside. "Nebulae, huh?" It had the same consistency as honey, if honey existed in smoke form. He passes the bottle to Zhalia, who shakes her head. Sophie takes it instead.

The box lets out a tinkling sound, as though Alunsina is laughing. Cherit notes that she sems to move more freely in her glass-and-dawn box than she had in its previous silver-and-storm incarnation.

Zhalia looks at it with wariness.

* * *

 _Over the hills, through the glen, across the lake._ Nothing.

 _In the bakery, along the borders of Glasshide-_ **{blocked}** Nothing.

 _In the streets._ Nothing.

 _Through the air, past the monastery, in and out of Edifier._ Nothing.

 _All around Farrow_ \- { **blocked}.** Nothing.

 _Along the Silica borders_ \- **{blocked}.** Nothing.

 _I thank you for your help, o Powers of Those from Before._ Our pleasure, Lady Casterwill.

Slowly but surely, Viviane Casterwill opened her eyes to the bronzed glow of the scrying mirror. Although she thought the brass was more like a gong than it is a mirror, for it was useless in reflecting things, and now, apparently, just as useless in finding things.

"What did you see?" Viviane didn't jump at the sound of her cousin's voice, but it was a close thing.

She turns to Lucas and says, "Nothing. Neither the star nor the ring is in Edifier." Standing up, she drains the water from the scrying pool and looks around for her hair band.

"The passageways around Glasshide, Silica, and Farrow lake are all blocked," she continues. "There are no liminal spaces for the star to go through, yet the Powers from Before say he is no longer in Edifier. Oh, thank you Dellix," she says, taking the band from him.

"Come here, Annie," Lane pats the seat next to her. Viviane sits and lets Lane braid her hair, deft fingers moving across her scalp. Dellix's braid designs were more intricate and his touch gentler but it always leaves Viviane's hair frizzy whenever she undoes them.

"Does this mean that somebody has already killed the star?" Dellix asks.

"That can't be the case. If it were, the ring would have gone back to Lady Nimue," Lucas says.

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"Investigate it for ourselves," Lucas answers. "Viv, do you want to come with us to Edifier?"

Viviane subtly shakes her head, trying not to ruin Lane's work. "I don't think that'd be a great idea."

"We could drop you off with Sophie," Lane offers. "She's still in Edifier, isn't she?"

"Yes, but then she'd wonder what the lot of us is doing there."

"Good point. Well, we'd best be off then."

They all say their goodbyes to Viviane, and she accepts a long hug from Lucas. "Try not to overdo yourself on divination, alright?"

"I'll try," Viviane says. The three of them transverse away, outside of the caverns of the Northern Casterwillian sanctuary.

She touches her braid, and tries not to worry about the fact that she had not yet received a reply from her cousin Sophie, or that she hasn't seen her aura anywhere in Edifier.

 _Oh, Merlin and the Moon_ , she thinks. _Please help her._


	6. pausing

**A/N:** it's almost two months since i last updated this, and i've only got 4k+. there was supposed to be three more POVs in this chapter during its outline, but i don't have the time to finish the rest bc school, and i figured the chapter can stand on its own without the others. Please review if you enjoyed!

* * *

Brahe would like to say that his employer is the most level-headed person in this side of Faerie. Sharp-Edged Corners, after all, is the most logical man he has ever met, and logic is the base form of level-headedness. Brahe treats logic with a healthy amount of respect.

This same unflinching, reasonable logic was the reason why he's still alive, as Sharp-Edged Corners had decided that the beast- however mute and small in comparison to others- would have more use as muscle around his research center than gutted dead in a ditch, abandoned by the rest of his Golem pile. Yes, he would very much like to say that his employer is the most level-headed person in this side of Faerie.

"Those Morgan-damned _fools_!"

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he _can't._

Brahe snatches the clay jar before it hits the wall and sets it down on the table, the runes inside jingling.

Sharp-Edged Corners slams another hand on the table as he re-reads the letter. He puts the glass circles ( _spectacles_ , Brahe thinks that he had mentioned it once) on his face, eyes fervently scanning the paper because Brahe can see that the hurried, miniature scrawl was the complete opposite of Sharp-Edge's neat and large letters, as though the one sending it wanted to inconvenience him as much as they can.

Brahe couldn't read human script, but from Sharp-Edge's ravings and the way that the messenger hurriedly left after giving away the letter means that it wasn't anything that Sharp-Edge might like. And if Sharp-Edge doesn't like something he will do anything to change it until he likes it, logical man he is.

Like he did with the dryad. Like he did with Brahe's small size.

"The best trappers in the skies, they said. Best at trapping what? Flies?!" Sharp-Edge shreds the paper into pieces and throws them in the fire. Brahe follows their trail and his stony gaze settles on the fire, entranced at the way the paper turns into curling green smoke.

He tunes out the man, knowing that he will not turn his anger on him as long as nothing in the workshop is destroyed by his actions. He sits still then, the motion sending a slight vibration through the floors of the airy research center, and watches the green embers glow like some of Sharp-Edge's jeweled creations.

"-recommended by those _idiots_ from _Brassbury_ , I should have known not to trust him-"

He knows better than to touch the fire, of course, because while the embers aren't poisoned like that peridot chalice, they burn Brahe easily. He's never been burned before, and he found out that he didn't like being burned, after that.

"-couldn't even snatch it from four people! A bat and an impaired old codger, those were the reports, right here, and- _where_ is that _damned report_ -"

The scorchmarks are still there, in his palm. Another crash and several (unbreakable) tools roll on the floor as Sharp-Edge searches his desk. Brahe catches the pale orb precariously sliding at the edge of the table and sets it down on a basket along with the others, still not taking his eyes off of the flames.

"-and those rogue hunters from up North didn't even report back! They better have done-"

A small piece of paper is still on the floor. Brahe crumples it and throws it into the fire, and stares in delight as the smoke curls again.

"Brahe! Brahe! Brahe!"

Brahe stands up immediately in parade rest and looks to Sharp-Edge, awaiting further instructions. The man, however, did not seem to take notice of him, continuing on with his complaints about the previous men that he had hired.

"Brahe! Brahe! Brahe!"

A slight tinkling behind him captures his attention, and oh, Strix!

Buzzing around the window, tapping at the glass, doing all sorts of noises that should have inconvenienced Sharp-Edge and make him mutter about "the worst messengers in Faerie, why hasn't she used ravens yet", if he wasn't currently occupied with muttering about "bumbling cretins not worth anyone's time!"

"Brahe! Brahe! Brahe!" They kept on tapping the window in a staccato rhythm, the beat thrown off by one of them being outbalanced due to a small wicker basket tied to their lower body. Still, it was a pleasant sound, and Brahe enjoys listening to the tap-tap-tap on the window pane.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" They chorus. "Open up! Open up! Open up!"

Brahe let them tap-tap-tap for a few minutes more before walking over to Sharp-Edge and tapping him on the shoulder, gesturing to the window.

He would never understand why Sharp-Edge would want a piece of glass there if all he was going to do was move it out of the way. Indeed, he let Brahe open the window once, but alas, he couldn't turn the latch and just punched the glass to let the Strix in.

This, of course, led him to being stripped of his magical armor, immobile for _days_ as Sharp-Edge had left him sunning outside. He would have stayed there for a long time, still not understanding what he did wrong- after all, he had _opened_ the window- if Violence in the Pouring Rain hadn't come and reversed the spell.

Strix had come here again. Which means that Violence will visit soon, and he'll have someone to talk to again.

Brahe turns to Sharp-Edge, surprise at the sudden silence until he sees him clutching Violence's letter. He knows it's hers not because he can sense the magic- which, he still _can't_ \- but because Sharp-Edge always acts differently around Violence. Less logical. A magic in and out of itself, truth be told.

He doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.

"My aged eyes, she says? Pah! I've barely lived _sixty years_ in this world," Sharp-Edge mutters. The words, Brahe places as insulting, but he doesn't seem as thunderous as he was earlier.

His moment of observation is interrupted by a sudden buzzing all around him. The Strix, now relieved of their burdens, immediately pester him with whatever gossip they had managed to procure in spite of, or perhaps _because_ of, their isolation.

"Brahe! Brahe! Brahe! You'll never believe this but we had visitors! Visitors! Visitors we tell you," they say to him in greeting.

If Brahe had eyebrows, he would've raised them in answer. But he has none, and in its stead he sneaks a look to Sharp-Edge, ever glad that the human cannot understand Strix's buzzed speech.

"Okay so there was this star, a star Brahe could you believe it?"

Brahe shakes his head.

"Of course you won't but the point stands that there was this star except he doesn't look like whatever Zhalia's been telling us like bright balls of gas but she seems to have confused them for wisps again you know our Mistress mixing up things like that from time to time must be because of her being half-fae and living alone in Silica for years and all like Klaus says but what are you going to do anyway the star was there really and he wasn't a ball of gas he was this humanoid person all glowing like a fae or a wisp except stronger because he's from the sky and they're all so bright up there and he leaves so much light around it's so much fun trying to cover it all up but the nightshades and the roses and the tomatoes don't like the shining one bit!"

Brahe nods, completely convinced by their excited chattering.

"And, and, and! You'll never guess what happened next!"

Brahe shakes his head.

"Mistress made a Vow with one of the star's companions not just a vow but a Vow like magic Vows and all and she helped them on a quest in exchange for something we haven't seen it yet but we will get to once we get back Zhalia promised so and she never breaks our promises with us but we were worried about leaving her with strangers but Mistress said it was okay and besides Gareon's with her anyway so we left but it was amazing we've never seen that big a fight in the forest before not even counting that gladiator squirrel match we initiated last mating season!"

"Brahe!" He turns around to see Sharp-Edge motioning to the wicker basket. "Help me with the charm; she's put another one on the nightshades." He steps back, and squints at the letter in his hands, contemplating.

Strix titters as Brahe walks over to Sharp-Edge. "He forgot the charm again! Mistress likes to inconvenience everyone, doesn't she?" they titter proudly. "You'd think he'd have learned how to use magic that doesn't have anything to do with alchemy by now especially living so long in this world."

Brahe pulls off a neutralizing rune from his armor to cancel out the charm on the basket when Sharp-Edge puts his hand on his arm. His stone face doesn't leave much for expression but Sharp-Edge must've sensed his confusion, as he says, "I've got another shipment from the Great Mage himself, and I must try it out this time."

He pulls out something from his coat's front pocket, a small black seed that he rolls around on his hand. The seed was so dark it didn't even seem to reflect light. "If these work in my hands, then it would prove that those hunters weren't worthy of consorting with the likes of the Great Mage's organization from the very beginning."

Brahe hears the crunch as Sharp-Edge clenches his fist around the bean. He opens his palm, and there is… nothing. Brahe tilts his head and wonders where the bean could've gone to. In spite of this failure, the manic smile on Sharp-Edge's face doesn't fade, and he touches the small wicker basket.

The wicker basket rapidly enlarges, the charm gone in an instant. Brahe doesn't move from where he was standing so that he would not crush the dozens of dark purple nightshade suddenly flooding the room.

He does not remember seeing this much nightshade in one place before. He does not remember seeing such a dark shade of purple in nightshades, either. Strix, all three of them, suddenly perch on his head and shoulders as though their life depended on it, and their abrupt silence is all the more apparent in the room, the only sound being the slight crackling of embers.

Sharp-Edge is in the corner, unbothered by the waves of purple surrounding his floor, staring at his hand with a glint in his eyes. He seems sharper, in this light. Brahe, for all of his lack of empathy towards other creature's magics and auras, feels as though he is without his armor again.

"Well, that's that," Sharp-Edge says, looking down at the flowers. "Surprisingly healthy, Zhalia has outdone herself this time. And indeed," he chuckles, an awkward thing, crawling out from lungs that weren't used to the action, "the Great Mage truly has great power."

He turns to the creatures in the room. "Do tell my daughter that I'd be ready for her whenever, and that I am still not using her damned liminal space. Sweep this in the corner, Brahe." He maneuvers away from the floral explosion, book and Violence's letter in hand, leaving them to stare at… everything.

The Strix's silence does not mean that Brahe doesn't know what they're thinking. The three of them are loud that way. They hover, almost hesitantly, to the window, turning back to Brahe.

"See you soon, Brahe. We must tell Mistress about this."

They leave. Brahe stares at all the purple, and decides that he does not like it as much as he does all the green. He picks up a broom and tries to sweep it to the side, out of sight.

The sooner he finishes this, the sooner he can stare at the furnace before it's extinguished.

* * *

Lok already misses his star robes. Zhalia had provided him with new travelling attire- a gray long sleeve with a blue shirt underneath to better conceal his unnatural glow and loose enough that he wouldn't be chafed by the ring dangling by his chest, riding trousers with several hidden compartments in it and knee high boots made of a tensile fabric– fiber? –of sorts, he didn't really listen. What he did get is that it might not look as dashing as the dragonhide that Dante has, but it's just as strong.

As it turns out, Zhalia doesn't like to use any kind of fabric that remotely resembles Gareon.

Don't get him wrong, he likes his clothes, especially since Sophie had told him that it brings out the color of his eyes. But no matter how comfortable it is, he knows his heightened temperature will be a problem in the long run.

Still, the team had insisted, and now here he was in the spacious foyer, torn between admiring himself and picking at his new appearance in the grand mirror. For the umpteenth time.

None was around to make jest of his newly-acquired vanity. Sophie- despite of her curious animosity towards Zhalia- is still entranced with the tablet and Zhalia's easy use of it, having been given free reign over Zhalia's library and a set of instructions just so that they'd get out of each other's company. Dante, Cherit, and Zhalia were in the other room, discussing the ownership of Alunsina's box.

Lok had fallen asleep the whole day yesterday to the sounds of them talking in the next room over and waking up in the middle of the night to them _still talking_. Lok has observed enough on Faerie to know that most creatures usually sleep when his kind is awake, and is very confused as to why they were both still up.

But it's not as if he eavesdropped. For one, the best he could hear without being discovered was muffled sounds, and he doesn't think that the conversation was interesting. The box was too heavy to carry around, and if it had switched into Zhalia's hands then all the more better. She needs to have someone here with her aside from Gareon and forest animals, even if it is just an enchanted box.

Satisfied with his reflection, he turns around on his heel to go and explore the whole of Zhalia's house, unable to do so the last time. He didn't know if she had been fucking with him back when she said she could see in the dark perfectly fine, as his exploration had revealed that there is not a single poorly-lit room in the house.

The house is bigger on the inside, that much is certain. By now, Lok had learned not to question magic. There was no evident source of light, and Lok concludes that Zhalia must have enchanted the walls and the roof to glow. All of it was as white as Lok's star robes, and the glare of the walls were softened by the vines creeping around it in a random pattern- some dry and dead and some as healthily green as her nightshade plants outside, as though the marble was fertile enough to support life growing out of it. It would have made an impressive piece of aesthetic decoration had he not seen Gareon go up and through the vines to get from one place to another, then settling down to sleep, cradled by vines that move to support her weight.

He did try to touch the vines to see if they would move for him as well, but the vines scattered to evade his hand, and he remembered that Zhalia's plants apparently hated his starlight.

The grandest thing in the whole house, however, is the floor of the foyer itself. Dark obsidian complemented the faint, chalk-like golden streaks that run through it, jagged in some places and curving around the walls, and some had joined to form a shape that Cherit had said was an inverted star, or a pentagram.

"Those streaks are called ley lines, my boy," Cherit had explained. "They represent the paths of magic in a field and are different for every caster and every magical place. Indeed, this inverted star represents the house's loyalty to Zhalia."

Lok had gone round the room and declared that he cannot see any resemblance- as he's a star himself yet humanoid in shape. Cherit had smiled, pointed out the five points and his limbs and flew off on his merry way, following the tracks of the ley lines on the way to the left wing of the house.

Another curious thing he observed. Sophie hadn't spared the majestic floor more than a cursory glance when they came in yesterday, yet even when her eyes are stuck on the tablet she hesitates in her steps for a half-second before stepping over a line, like she was dancing a stunted waltz on her way to the library. Dante slightly hops whenever he crosses the foyer and Cherit always, always flies just above a line, never out of it. None of them ever looked down.

Lok thought that the lines may have contained a spell of sorts, but he had stepped on the lines several times, had jumped from obsidian plate to obsidian plate, and now ended up on the bottom of the grand staircase with no broken backs or magical stings on his person whatsoever. Zhalia hadn't even come out to reprimand him like she did yesterday when he tried to open a locked room.

(Ask him about that, however, and he will vehemently say that he did _not_ jump up in a fright when the brass raven doorknocker suddenly moved and spoke in Zhalia's voice. No, that was an event that had never happened at all. Not once, and certainly not twice. He does not have a newfound fear of animal-shaped doorknockers because he was _never scared by one_. Not _ever_.)

Lok looks up to the part of the house he has yet to explore.

The wide obsidian steps obscuring the view of the second floor had no handles or any support whatsoever, free-floating in mid-air. Lok takes a hesitant step and trods on when the hovering steps carry his weight.

He gets up halfway around it when the steps snap themselves closed.

"What the-!" Lok had no time to continue the sentence as he slides down the stairs and lands on his butt. He picks himself up, checks for tears on his new clothes and stares at the steps, the slats now moving back to their former position.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop that?" Lok jumps at the sound of Zhalia's voice and turns around to see her walking across the foyer, Alunsina's box resting on her gloved hand. Dante follows behind, slightly hopping.

"Sorry," Lok says.

"Like a sore thumb," Zhalia says.

Dante nods.

"What?"

Zhalia shakes her head. "Nevermind. Pack up your belongings, we're leaving now."

"We?" Lok asks, but Zhalia's already out the door, gone in a flurry of sea-green fabric. "You're coming with us?"

"Only to the borders, and then we part ways," says Dante. "Silica forest is a weirwood, with a mind of its own. As soon as we take our leave without her, the forest may try to trick us. Or worse." He rubs his arms from where he has rolled up the sleeves to his elbow, coat discarded, markings faint in the glaring brightness of the foyer. "I'm well-equipped against its enchantments, but it would be impossible to fight off the forest and look after you and Sophie."

"Oh." Lok stares at the door Zhalia had exited. "Won't the council be mad?" At Dante's confused look, he adds, "You've given her Alunsina's box. I thought that was light caster property."

A shadow of a frown creases at the edge of Dante's mouth, gone in the next moment. "Well, everything is void under a binding Vow, even the Council's laws. We'll just have to make it work." Lok watches as he rolls down his sleeves and hops to the direction of Cherit's room. "Extract Sophie from her books, will you? We leave at sunrise."

* * *

"Sir, may I come in?"

Haven looks up to him from where she was standing guard at the door and wags her tail three times. Not Seelie nor Unseelie, it seems, but powerful enough. Galling puts on his monocle- a piece of round glass reinorced with warg enchantments- and sees through the eyes of a squirrel perched on a mango tree outside the house.

In his doorway is a woman in Wicker garb, and Galling feels dread washing over him for the twentieth time since he stepped out of Glasshide. _Shouldn't the warrior be with Cherit in the monastery?_ Galling, defenseless as he is, holds his breath and tamps down his aura.

He shouldn't even feel apprehension at this rate. He is off-duty, and on a legal leave. Wicker warriors are the most trustworthy beings in all of Faerie, and would mean no harm to light casters, certainly not one as useful as he is still. The Council wouldn't come after him.

But Galling is ancient enough to remember a time when there were no light or dark casters, before the separation and drain of magic. Wicks and their honor are but a shade of the once-glorious realm of the Old Magic, and they are still bound to the whims and orders of the Faerie council.

It has taken him forty years and the loss of his magic-sense and swordsmanship to find out that anything sworn in blood and breath does not bind.

Time stretches the seconds, and the wick steps away from his door, uncrossing her arms. Galling's mental celebration is cut short when she turns to look at him through the warg-sight.

"Sir, I do insist that you let me in. There has been an incident in the monastery, and I need your help in finding out what happened." The wick holds out her arm and unsheathes her blade, depositing it in the hidden compartment on the door and raising her hands.

The clang of the iron dagger materializing on the table startles Galling out of the warg-sight. Haven trots over, sniffs at the dagger and noses it on its side, revealing the carved runes on the hilt – _Northern Wind_.

He gets up from the creaky chair and sets down his monocle, opens the door. A woman with long dark hair and a serious expression steps in, ring finger and thumb folded in a respectful gesture, manners easy as breathing. "Sir Galling of the Arduennas," she nods. "Forgive the intrusion. If it were any other situation, I would've brought tea with me."

"Understood, Lady Storm," says Galling. "Please sit. Do excuse the mess, I haven't had time to clean up after that dryad fiasco, I presume you were briefed about it?"

"I was." She sits on the rattan chair with the least amount of clutter on it and sets her dragonhide jacket on its arm. "And what I am about to say isn't going to make the situation the least bit direr."

Galling sighs, pushing the sheaf of papers to one side and sits down. "Aren't we all used to that by now?" Haven trots into the room and offers the dagger in her mouth to Lin.

Lin takes the dagger and wisely doesn't pet the were-guide. "Sir, I don't know how else to say this, but Cherit isn't in the monastery, nor is the artifact there."

Galling stills. "Are you implying that-"

"No, he didn't steal the artifact. He would have no motive, first of all, and he can't leave the monastery without the anchor's consent." Her raised eyebrow is a pointed question.

"I didn't know anything about this," he answers.

"I know you don't."

"Don't ask questions that you already have answers for, little girl," Galling snaps.

She lifts her chin up defiantly. "I am just making sure all avenues of thought are considered. Although you're right, that is not what I came here for." She rolls her shoulders back and attempts for intimidating, although it doesn't work half as well as when the other wick in the disguise was. "Where is the other artifact located?"

Galling is slightly taken aback. "Wouldn't you know about that?"

"No, I wouldn't. Although if the ones that made that ghastly scene in the monastery is after the light artifacts, it would make sense that they'd go for the nearest one. Do you know where that is?" Her hand rests on the armchair, fingers curved just so, positioned so that she can take out her blade in short notice. She doesn't break eye contact with him and Galling looks deep into her eyes.

 _Trust_ , Galling thinks _, is such a fickle thing in Faerie_. Loopholes and escape clauses and exact wordings are treated as gospel by every damned creature in this place. Nothing can be trusted in such a strange land, and the only upside of Galling's honorable discharge is that he gets to stay _far away_ from all of it.

 _But if Cherit really is in trouble…_

Lin Storm leans back on the chair, dark green attire prominent in the brown shades of his living room like a particularly deadly plant, silent, waiting for his answer.

She might be hiding something.

She might not be doing anything.

She flexes her hand.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and passes judgment.

He lets out a breath. "In the Arduennas, there is a small town by the sea, called Panapulse by the mer-creatures, although the town itself does not have its own name. There is a building, a small place of worship for those who have faith in the nameless old gods." His fingers tap a rhythm on the chair- three and _three_ and three. "Oya's waterskin sits there guarded only by the waves that pull it closer to the depths."

"I'll find it unopposed?"

"If you hurry."


	7. moving

**A/N:** As it turns out- I can, in fact, write a chapter for two days straight, given that my phone and other unfinished documents are locked away. This chapter is dedicated to Thea, who never lets me get away with evading deadlines even though she doesn't read my fics. You do you, bb.

* * *

Scarlett takes off her mourning veil, the spiderweb dewy with tears, and throws it outside of her window, landing neatly on a willow branch. Reckless disposal of the veils was outlawed by the Council years due to the enchanted tears falling on passersby and enslaving them to the Sidhe, but the Queen and the forest can sense the change in the air, shifting throughout the earth. Rules have no meaning during transition. If anything, the birds can use the webs for their nests.

A light shines in the edges her vision and Scarlett spies the letters sitting on her bed- delivered by the wind elementals, if the messy sheets were any indication. One smells faintly of magical ink and the early-morning chills, and the other, simple yet imbued with magic so bright, Scarlett almost expected the paper to burn through the bed.

She picked up the bright envelope with her forefinger and thumb, careful not to stare at it too directly. Scarlett gingerly pulled out the sheet of paper and flicks it, once, twice, the brightness becoming bearable.

 _Scarlett,_

 _The ravens have reached Stormhold with grave news of your kin a week ago, and while my country sends their condolences I offer my own, a voice among others, though they have no use in your sorrow. But I have to talk about other matters concerning things in the whole of the land. It is selfish of me to ask you to set aside your grief, but grief is selfish in its own. This is merely mimicry._

 _Before we parted ways, you have said that you owe a debt to me, and have indeed reminded me of it for the past few years ever since my husband, heaven rest his soul, died. I would like to extract that favor from you now._

 _I have left my nest, and have taken but a candle and a flask of water with me on my journey. By the time you're reading this I might be seven leagues away from it. Meet me there, and I'll tell you the rest. The important matters, I can discuss firsthand. And in such a town as Alisto, I doubt I'd be hard to find._

 _Cathy_

The next one wasn't as vague, or friendly.

 _To whom it may concern-_

 _This is to inform that the Council requests a formal audience with_ _ **the Seelie Queen**_ _or_ _ **her chosen representative**_ _for the coming summit. Due to certain events transpiring as of late, the date for the summit will be moved from the high end of the half-moon to the spring equinox._

 _The change in schedule will no doubt be a hindrance to most of the delegations coming in, but it is a final decision nevertheless. The Council wishes to have your reply at the earliest convenience, to properly gauge how we can accommodate everyone's needs._

 _ **Guggenheim**_ _  
Keeper of Faerie Knowledge, Council of the Seekers_

As soon as Scarlett has finished reading, a stinging gradually grows in her throat. A sliver of her magic escapes and follows the thread of it, around her neck and behind her eyes. There's a sound like the world changing.

Soon, she's kneeling, staring at the slight glow of lifelines overlapping all around the grass of the Summer Court.

The place is sighing laments- roots and runes pulsing and the ever-present wind circling throughout the grove- but its whispers were not able to completely drown out the Seelie Queen's voice. "Arise," She utters a garble of ascending sounds and vowels, unpronounceable- seizing Scarlett's entire being, forcefully pulling her to her feet and at attention, staring into the wine-dark gaze of her Queen.

Her glamour fades instantly as her aura is stretched, her spheres of influence from the ficus trees to the water drunk by the trees- all stilled as the Queen's own magic permeates through her whole, bare self. Strands of red hair make way for thin _balete_ fiber. Pale skin gets paler, her true magic making her flesh-and-blood vessel transparent. A smattering of ever-moving constellations appear on her limbs and her body gives as her eyes turn the darkest shade of _ficus_ bark. The air is filled with a piercing scent- one that may not be recognizable to humans but is known to the various fauna as the scent that marks a flowering tree at its freshest.

Scarlett stands at attention, highly aware of the pulsing magic lightly resting around her throat and aura, close enough to be suffocating.

It's not the first time that the Queen has used Scarlett's True Name. Scarlett thinks she may never get used to the sensation of being made turned inside-out, bare for the world to see.

The Seelie Queen regards her with a dismissive stare as she etches her instructions into Scarlett's head, clear and precise even without words.

Scarlett opens her headspace to the Queen, letting her take a memory or an experience in return for the knowledge that she has placed in Scarlett's head.

She can feel the Queen poking at the letters she had read earlier- easily dismissing the Council's letter, information she already knows. The Queen treats the shining letter with interest- ( _goes still, tries to bury it, only for something, some force stopping her_ ) takes in the contents and searches the rest of Scarlett's memories for context.

Soon, Scarlett can feel the Queen's influence recede, the ground beneath her feet becoming solid as she becomes aware of her weight. Her aura snaps back to her, instantly re-arranging her thoughts as it was before.

It takes her a few more moments of recovery before realizing that the Queen did not take any of her memories, and she shoots a dark-eyed look at the Queen, not bothering to change form.

The Queen did not pay her any mind and leans back like melting molasses, the bells on her ivory antlers chiming with the movement. "Change is coming. Choose to act as you will, but let nature run its course. We exist outside of its realm.

"Go to the star if you so wish, but remember that your duty to the forest is always first. Come back before the eventide or the forest will stay unchanging without you."

The heavy weight upon her head compels her to obey.

* * *

Wild laughter echoes throughout the bar as the group of men enter through the backdoor and plop themselves on a round table in the back. The more senior residents of the inn, no doubt wanting to finish their breakfasts in peace, frowns at the horde hollering for a round of heavy drink to be passed on.

The barmaid contemplates kicking them out for disturbing the morning crowd on what was supposed to be a quiet, uneventful weekend. Instead, Grace sighs and goes to the storeroom for their ale, pulling down the neckline of her sweetheart dress as soon as she's out of eyesight. She needs to get used to wearing her tightest corsets again, now that that rich young student up and left, she has to resort to her old way of getting tips.

She fills the mugs with watered-down ale so as to keep them in the bar for longer and comes out to find that the seniors have already left, leaving behind their tips on the bar counter.

One of the boorish men eagerly takes the tray from her and motions for her to sit down on a chair. "Abandon your post for a bit, Grace. Listen to what the man has to say, yeah?" The men around the table echo the offer, one of whom to her surprise is LeBlanche, one of their senior residents. He came here initially with the Lady Sophie, yet he decided to stay while his ward goes off to somewhere. Strange, that this has caught his interest.

If she could raise her eyebrows, she would have done so in that moment. Upon closer inspection, the men around the table were the ones from the edge of town- farmers and rivermen, and quite a few were the local queensmen. Strange that the working-class would all be in a bar at this time of day. "What's the special occasion?" she asks.

"I believe these young men had encountered quite the scene from the river a few moments ago," LeBlanche answers. "They have yet to start the tale." Grace sits down.

Drinks are passed. One of the revelers claps a timid young man on the back. This man is obviously the man of the hour. He's red-faced, due to both shame and drink, as his friends egg him on continuing.

"Come on, Peter! Tell them exactly what you saw!"

"There's not much to tell, really," the man named Peter says. "If anything, one of you queensmen should be spilling."

"We haven't interrogated them yet," one of the aforementioned queensmen says, spilling a few drops of beer on his triskelion badge. "We left them in the station still shivering, and I'm sure it ain't 'cause of their diving session in the river."

Jeers around the table. "You spoiled the whole thing, you dumbass."

"What? It's not like they're not going to find out about it later on."

"Still, it's the dramatics." One of them points a shaky finger at the man, apparently one of the lightweights. " _You_ have no _penchant_ for the dramatics."

Grace decides to intervene before any of them could get more off-topic. "Would you mind getting it on? I have better things to do than listen to your drunken ramblings."

"Hear that? She wants to see us _getting it on_ ," another one of them leers. Definitely drunk. Grace wonders why she even bothers these days.

"Gentlemen," LeBlanche stresses.

Peter sighs. "They're right, they're right, I should probably do this before I forget." He looks down at his now-apparently-empty mug. "Give me a minute or two."

"Peter, Peter, Peter," the men chant, rhythmically plopping their mugs on the table. Grace doesn't join in, instead eyes the ale being spilled over the table and wondering how much she has to clean up after they leave. Peter motions for them to settle down.

"Yesterday afternoon, I was fishing up by my secret spot up the old riverbank, a pocket of scraggly trees a few miles away from the Farrow lake. Fucking mountain bastards-" he spits out and the local Edithians nod in solidarity, "closed off everything from the mainland. I've been sitting there the past few days, all by myself, making sure nobody tries to shoehorn in the territory.

"Catch wasn't that great, nearing the winter times and all, but what can you do. I guarded that spot like I was Fergus and the land was my sheep."

The men cheer and Grace nods in. Fergus, the oldest shepherd in Edifier, notorious for fighting off wolves and dark creatures with nothing but a stick, a rock, and 50 pounds of determination, nods. "I do love my sheep," he says.

"I heard the buzzing first, then shouting. Figured it was one of the half-fae kids, fooling around in the river. I went to tell them off, then…" he breaks off and steals a gulp from the mug next to him.

The queensman from before continues, "He saw five men hanging from th- fuck!" He cradles his jaw and sends an angry glare at the lightweight from earlier. He spits out a tooth in his mug. "What the fuck was that for?" he mumbles. Grace stands up and fetches ice from the counter to hand it to him.

" _Dramatics_."

Peter hisses. "Stop stealing my thunder." The queensman grumbles something, but it was lost to the voices of the other people urging Peter to continue.

"Yeah, five men, hunters all- floating in mid-air. They dropped down in the middle of the river, and somehow the waves carried them over to the shore. Then I saw the Strix." The small talk ceases. "I recognized them from my travels up North, the Council keeps records of them. Didn't think I'd see one in my life. Let alone three, and in Edifier to boot."

Grace is stunned into shocked silence, and so are the rest of the men- or the locals, anyway. Some make fervent gestures, as if their superstition could ward off evil. Grace rubs the lace bracelet her mother had blessed with rainwater and cassava bark. It itches, but she is glad that she has not taken it off, hoping that the protection, however flimsy, might do its work.

LeBlanche stares at the rest of them. "Strix are common creatures to be found in dense forests with generally hot climates. They are said to be territorial as well," he remarks. "Why the surprise?"

The Edithians look to each other, then to Peter. In a grave tone of voice, he explains, "Strix are dark creatures. Edifier has one of the strongest anti-dark caster wards in all of Faerie, next to only the High Kingdoms and the North itself. The Strix could not have passed here on their own, which means they are under the command of the Silica witch herself."

At this, LeBlanche raises a fine eyebrow. Grace feels a faint sliver of envy. "Why assume that they are under her power? It could very well be some other caster bringing them in, or the Strix might have passed the borders." His calm demeanor makes him stand out from the locals, and while Grace has found the man likeable she has never been more reminded that the man is still a stranger to these lands.

"What do you mean passed the borders?" she asks. "Nothing can get in or out of Edifier's wards."

"And yet the monastery has closed its doors, and the Sidhe mourn."

"The _witch_ is responsible for all that!" Grace angrily remarks. The men do not stop her. "She is in cahoots with the mountain lords, and she has struck a deal with them to corral us all here as sacrifices."

"But the Summer Court has not razed Silica to the ground, and the Queen Catherine has signed on the papers for your freedom to the kingsroad," he replies, with all the patience in the world. Grace stares at him and slowly feels the anger and fear ebbing out of her. "There are other powers at work here, but do not be quick as to blame the first dark caster you come across."

Peter's question is a whisper. "Why shouldn't we?"

LeBlanche turns his steady gaze to him. "Because anybody can be blamed."

"He's right," says Fergus, to the surprise of many. He stands up, drinks the last of his ale. The pounding of his wooden staff hitting the floor echoes throughout the still-silent bar. "I best be going. The sheep might run off again."

One by one, the men follow his lead like Fergus' own obedient flock of sheep, and Grace starts to put away their messes. The front door opens, and in comes three cloaked travelers. "Good morning."

They look around and take in the whole of the inn. Grace looks back at them, and the sopping-wet round table, and asks LeBlanche if he would please take care of the newcomers.

LeBlanche steps up to them and bows. "Good morning to you too, Master Lucas."

Grace nearly drops the wet rag on the floor. She keeps on cleaning the table, conspicuously trying to listen in to the conversation.

The man who she presumes is Lucas removes the hood of his cloak. She almost dropped a mug. Lucas has a handsome face, features strikingly familiar, and Grace easily puts him as the Lady Sophie's relative-probably her brother. LeBlanche has also addressed Sophie in a formal manner before.

Grace hopes that this Lucas will take his time studying here in Edifier as well.

His companions remove their hoods as well, revealing them to be a girl with blue hair and a man with locks of brown hair hanging over his face. They look to be his bodyguards, and the girl seems to be half-fae, if the hair is any indication.

"Masters Lane and Dellix," LeBlanche greets. "This is a rather pleasant surprise."

They smile. "We had to pay a visit sometime. How are you LeBlanche?"

"As fine as I'll ever be. Did you bring any horses with you?"

"None. We transversed all the way here, but don't tell Sophie." The tall one- Dellix- says. "She might be curious as to the real reason why we are here."

"The Lady Sophie will be curious regardless of whatever you do." LeBlanche motions for them to come with him. He goes to the counter and waves a hand, summoning all of the keys for the empty rooms in the bar, and picks one, gives it to Lane. "That room faces the east, might do to serve you a good morning."

"Just the one?" Lane asks, smiling.

"I have known you three before you ever grew teeth. Forgive me for the comment- but separating you paranoid lot would be impossible."

Dellix laughs. "For a second there, I thought someone had beaten us to that title."

"Never."

Delilix stretches a hand out, taking Lucas' cloak and bag, and he and Lane go upstairs to their room. Grace wonders how close the three must be.

Lucas stays behind, dressed in simple travelling clothes not unlike the Lady Sophie's. Hos gaze goes around the room and at Grace, wiping up the rest of the mess. "Where is Sophie?"

"Continuing her studies, Master Lucas," LeBlanche says coolly. "Where else would she be?"

Grace stays silent, moving quickly. It seems their conversation has taken a turn for the personal. And LeBlanche, to her surprise, is lying to his master. She needs to get out of the room and fast.

"And yet, the monastery is closed and the smithy has not seen Sabriel for a few days now." His voice carries throughout the room. For all of the guise of normality he puts on, his voice gives away a regal bearing. Even the drunkest of men could recognize that he is nobility. "Lying is unbecoming of you, LeBlanche. Where is my sister?"

"I am far from lying to you, Master Lucas, especially concerning the Lady Sophie. She is indeed studying, and she is indeed with Cherit. They have taken to traveling for their research, and with Sabriel they left Edifier yesterday."

Lucas brows furrow. "Does she know anything about-" he whispers then, and Grace could hear no more. Picking up the last of the mugs and putting it on a tray, taking it as a cue to leave the room, closing the storeroom door behind her.

Lucas stares at LeBlanche. "She couldn't have-"

"Don't you worry Master Lucas. She is fine, and does not appear to know anything about Lady Nimue's quest. You can rest easy."

"But she has gone. And Viviane did not say a word about Sophie's absence here in Edifier."

"Their secrecy is not up to us, Master Lucas. Let them share what they want. And as for the Lady Viviane, do you really think of her capable of any malicious intent?"

Lucas scoffs. "No. Dearest Anne is as capable of hate as the sun is capable of snow."

"And the Lady Sophie?"

"I would not put it past _her_ , LeBlanche. I know my sister, and her mind is like a steel trap."

"Then why not tell her about the ring?"

"Because she isn't ready. She's too young, and inexperienced. Sophie, for all her intelligence and natural-born magic, _cannot_ handle the responsibilities of this quest, let alone the things that come after."

LeBlanche sighs. "It seems, Master Lucas, that you do not know your sister as well as you think you do."

* * *

Loathe as she was to admit it out loud, Sophie will miss the Silica forest. Or rather, the magic that permeated through every crevice of the place. The last time she has sensed magic in that abundance was in the Casterwillian sanctuaries.

And, judging from the route that they'll trek throughout the North, it seems that she'll miss the comforts of Zhalia's… _cozy_ abode as well. It was nothing compared to her own bedroom back at the sanctuary, but it was better than that rickety inn in Edifier. And the library! Sure, it was full of dark artifacts and spells that were incompatible with her light magic, but it has provided her with a wealth of knowledge when dealing with the tablet.

 _However_ , she thinks, eyeing Zhalia and Dante in front of her, _there are_ some _things I won't miss._

Zhalia might not have killed them yet, but Sophie senses her ulterior motives. Helping her with the tablet and complimenting her spellwork almost lulled her into a sense of complacency. Staring at the woman in front of her, putting out a golden line on the ground so that they wouldn't get lost, Sophie reviews Zhalia's actions from the past day.

For one, she thinks she's better than everyone, treating her and Lok as _kids_. Lok, she understands. The boy is helpless and clueless on the Earth, and his clumsiness has never been more apparent than in the dark forest.

Instructing Sophie on how to use the magical library as though she isn't capable of doing it all on her own? Sophie doesn't remember being so insulted. Guiding them in the weirwood is a necessary thing, but Dante could have managed that on his own. In fact, he was trained for these events. This was nothing special.

Merlin, she even snapped at Cherit when he asked her about how long she has been governing in Faerie! Clearly, she holds herself higher than even the centuries-old, former Keeper of Knowledge in the Council. Zhalia may be an all-powerful witch, but it seems she's also a badly-tempered bitch.

In front of them, the road comes to a fork. Zhalia stops and looks to Dante over her shoulder. The wicker warrior holds up the Arclight. A ray of light emanates from the orb and points to the right road and down they go, Dante falling in step beside her.

Sophie eyes the whole thing and mutters under her breath, "Does she not know how to navigate her _own oak-damned forest_?" She has to ask help from Dante? How capable is she really? She has to have something up her sleeve. And why is Dante following her orders? He was already released from his binding Vow, he's not obligated to do anything with her!

Something must have happened when they had their talk last night. An enchantment, perhaps?

From the corner of her eyes, Lok and Cherit are conversing in hushed whispers. Sabriel's heavy metal footsteps re-assure Sophie that she's still following them.

If Sophie were being completely honest with herself, she would find that there was no rational excuse for her to be hostile towards the witch. Wary, yes, of course- but not as _hostile_ as to curse her in her head every time she uses her magic or even goes near Dante.

"Hey, Sophie?" Lok asks quietly, popping up next to her. His blue eyes have been more prominent ever since he changed his wardrobe.

Sophie hums her acknowledgement, still looking ahead. "Sophie," Lok starts, "Cherit and I can sense you seething from over there." He points a thumb.

"And how is that your concern?"

"I wouldn't know, he merely sent me as an ambassador of peace." Cherit looks nonplussed when Sophie levels a glance at him, motioning for her to keep it down.

She makes a mistake in glancing back at Lok, whose strikingly blue eyes seem to hold back a question at every turn. "Why are you so mad that we're getting help from her?"

Ah yes, he has even grown perceptive as of late. How quaint. "She might be waiting for something, Lok. How are we supposed to know that her coven isn't waiting outside the borders for a chance to jump at us?"

Gareon suddenly stops jumping form branch-to-branch to stare at them. Sophie motions to Lok to keep his voice carefully low.

"Because that wouldn't be a wise choice, especially when we have a wicker warrior in our midst in possession of a magic draining objects." Lok points out.

She huffs and continues on walking, silently accepting Lok's reasoning. Reaches instead for Sabriel's aura for some form of solidarity.

They've been walking in silence for about an hour, when sunlight starts to patch through the trees. Sophie takes a deep breath and is hit with the unmistakable briny smell of the ocean.

"Whoa," Lok admonishes.

A quick glance in front of them reveals no sight of the ocean, but the widest trunk of mossy-green bark that Sophie has ever seen.

It was hard to tell what kind of tree it was, since the leaves and branches stretch up high in the dimly-lit environment. Lok has already taken to inspect the tree, stardust falling from him as though he was covered in flour. Sophie knows even from sight that all of them could hug the tree and not even meet each other.

Gareon's scales light up as she runs up the tree, revealing an arrow and a few slashes of what Sophie supposes is another language lost to time. Strangely enough, this was one part of the tree not covered in a thin layer of moss. The inscription marking the liminal space.

Dante takes an audible, deep breath. "Panapulse, I take it?"

Zhalia nods, waving her fingers in a 'come hither' gesture, and the golden light on the floor snakes up the bark. "The other pathways are blocked by the Sidhe, and some will lead you even farther South."

The golden line of light surrounds the trunk thirteen times over before coalescing into what resembles a gate of light underneath the crudely-drawn arrow. "Who wants to go first?" asks Zhalia, turning to the rest of them.

"After you, dear Lady," says Dante.

"Why thank you, Sir," says Sophie, stepping inside the gate of light.

"Huh?" says Cherit.

If he had anything else to say, it was drowned out by the sudden noise of waves crashing onto the shore. Looking around, she sees no portal but rather the flat, sandy area of the kingsroad, leading straight to the mountains.

Running to the edge of the cliff, Sophie spies the town of Panapulse, a hubbub of activity. The sun is climbing up the sky still, its warmth seeping into her bones. She closes her eyes and breathes it all in.

Behind her, Lok shouts out amazement as he rushes over to the edge of the cliff as well. "Is that…?"

"Panapulse," Sophie continues. "The smallest seaside town in the South. It's commonly referred to as the pit stop of the South, given that it's not a special kingdom, unlike most seaside towns of the Arduennian sea. People pass through this town on a daily basis on their way to the Northern borders." She gestures to the kingsroad behind them.

Silence reigns for a minute as they stare at the small town. Stone houses surrounded the U-shaped town, with a huge white limestone cliff marking the borders of the left side of the town, and the tops of the cliff they were on on the right. Sophie puts a hand over her eyes to search for the infamous house of worship of the nameless old gods, but all of the structures are the same, grey blocks of stone with the occasional person going out of it, small as ants. Fishing boats were scattered along the mouth of the sea, yet the fishermen were unbothered by the large waves, expertly riding along with them.

"For such a small town, it has its charms," Sophie admits.

A large _crack_ springs behind them. They turn around to see Cherit, Dante, and Zhalia stepping out of a sliver of light. The strong winds disturb Dante's dragonhide coat and makes the seafoam-green tulle of Zhalia's skirts float around prettily, as though the lower half of her body were incorporeal smoke. Sophie suddenly feels something _unsettling_ , as though she has stopped herself from accidentally falling off the edge of a cliff, and she shudders, not knowing where the feeling came from.

"This is where we part ways, then," she says. She hands something to Dante. Dante pockets whatever it was as soon as Sophie and Lok run over to the clearing. "May we never cross paths again."

"You say that as though meeting us for a cup of tea would be an indescribable burden," Dante says.

"I have better things to do with my time than assist in your sorry quest."

"And yet…"

"Shut up."

Dante hums. Lok remarks in a low voice, "They're fond of their inside jokes. I was subject to this same conversation this morning," before abruptly shutting up. His comment doesn't ease Sophie's confusion, or her upset.

Cherit flies over to them, gliding against the wind. "Come, children, we need to get together for the transversal!"

"We're going to transverse to Stormhold?"

"Only for part of the way. No magic is strong enough to transverse to that distance, Sophie." Cherit looks thoughtful for a moment. "Well, there is one thing, but those are things of legend now."

"What is?"

"Candles, dear. Each flicker takes you leagues farther than what transversal spell or portal can hope to cover." He says this with a sigh, as he is apt to do when remembering the olden magic.

Sophie doesn't understand Cherit's inexplicable longing for the times before, given that the only good thing back then was the abundance of magic everywhere. The Children of the Dark had equal standing with the good, and the portal to Earth was still active and unbalancing the forces of Faerie. She is willing to let it slide, when the old bat stares at the distance. She was taught manners, and could respect Cherit's eccentricities for the time being.

Dante lays down a circle of cloth on the ground and stabs it with _Caliban_. The cloth bleeds the yellow-ink of transversal spells and expands.

"Get a move on, if you please," he says. Lok's gaze snaps to him, as though just focusing.

They all comply, stepping inside the circle. Zhalia looks away from the lot of them and transverses away before the circle could take effect and drag her along with them. Sophie stares at her before she left in a _crack._

They landed mid-way up Mount Belly before Sophie realized that the missing-limb feeling she had earlier wasn't hers.

It was Zhalia's.

* * *

 **A/N:** Apparently, I can't write a rationally jealous POV if my life depended on it. Whoops. Any grammatical and spelling errors credited to 3 A.M. me, who has a lot of ideas that can't be adequately put to paper.


	8. dipping

**A/N:** Updated 4/15/17. Fixed grammatical errors and added sentences.

* * *

Lady S didn't look up when the door to her patient's sickroom opened. Sir Ethan steps out, pulls up the hood of his dusky grey cloak. The monk has already spent a better part of two hours inside the room, talking to the sleeping King.

He nods to her. "When that stupid oaf recovers, send me a raven. I need to beat him up for getting us into all this trouble by sleeping."

"I'm afraid someone has already beaten you to that honor." At Ethan's raised eyebrow, she adds, "Magister Simon has been reading all of Metz's missed paperwork in front of a jabberjay. He plans to send a whole flock of them into the room when he wakes up."

Ethan cackles, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "I'd want to see the look on his face!" Then he sighs, suddenly serious. "Though I might not get that opportunity now. Well, I must be going, the Order of the Moon needs all hands on deck wrangling the unsettled roads."

He turns on his heel and walks away, the shabby cloak like a wisp of smoke in the hallway.

Even with the countless trips to the sickroom, Lady S isn't prepared for the star-bright glare that greets her when she steps in. She blinks, adjusting to the light. Tightening her grip on the bouquet of dragonsnaps in one hand, she closes the door behind her.

"This room seems to get brighter every time I go in," she mutters to no-one.

Bright as it is, the glare was a necessity; the artificial starlight keeps the enchantments- and one important patient- in stasis. The room is small compared to the rest of the grand castle, but the sparse furniture and complete lack of color made it seem larger. Simon insisted it was better this way, but Lady S was of the opinion that Metz would be offended by the minimalism.

Her free hand reached up and folded the brim on her healer's hat upward, exposing the thin Circle of Healing on her forehead to the starlight. Stepping closer to the bed, she murmured _**Mother, mother, I am sick**_ as a swirling green cloud forms over the bed.

Under it, lying prone on the large bed was an almost-as-large person, sleeping. The lower half was covered in a soft blanket, but the upper half was hidden in the dark shadows of the curtain. Lady S has had spelled it to repel light since last week, just so visitors wouldn't have to see how bad the infection has become.

"You know, Metz," she says, conversationally, "It's a shame you wouldn't get to see this year's summit. The Council looked about ready to resign from sheer panic and anger." Lady S sets down the flowers on a table. Her forehead runs hot as she reaches out to the green cloud, symptoms and small pains laid out neatly on the curling vapor.

 _Wrist pain._ She takes Metz's left wrist and folds, unfolds it in an exercise. "Everyone was already in some sort of panic. Chaos is everywhere in Faerie," she sighs. "Edifier seems to be the center of everything. You'd think such a small town wouldn't be this much of a problem."

Lady S gently lays his wrist down and sends pulses of energy to the rest of Metz's arm, to mimic muscle movement. The exercise takes less and less time everytime as his physique detoriates. He hadn't lost enough body mass to be considered thin, but it wasn't the same broad muscle he used to have.

Now, nobody would recognize the Ser Metz, Mighty King of Thorngate and High Warrior of the Wick. Not in this state, at least.

The green smoke lights up. _Uneven temperature_. Lady S sends a cooling wind to the sheets, under and over the bed. "First the kingsroad flooding, then the horrid thing with the Sidhe, and now the river has apparently spit up men like spoiled food."

She sighs again. She seems to be doing a lot of sighing these days. "At least Dante's on the case. The one good thing you did before you decided to sleep in."

Metz remained unresponsive, like he had for the last few days. Why Lady S even bothers talking, she doesn't know.

…well, if she was being honest with herself, she does know. It was a fair bit of laughing superstition anyway, but her father used to talk to her whenever she was sick and it made her feel better. It was odd, and every time he did it her mother would purse her lips in the door until he stopped, not understanding why he was doing it. But her grandmother did it to her father too, when he was younger, and so he passed the tradition of talking to sick, unresponsive people to his daughter.

Habit formed out of superstition, yet Lady S does it all the same. Granted, she wasn't considered the best healer in Faerie (bar the magical folk, of course) if she always entertained thoughts of going against conventional magical practices and entertained every backwoods belief done by the commonfolk, but sometimes the wind blows in a different direction and she feels just the tiniest bit reckless.

Perhaps that's why Metz hired her in the first place. _Besides,_ she muses, _they had already tried everything. What harm could talking possibly be?_

With a flick of her wrist, the pale flowers on the bedside table crumpled into dust, and she deposited a still-snapping bunch of dragonsnaps on the vase. The riotous red and orange bursts, bright against the room, made her smile. Shame that the color would get leached out from magical exposure.

"Magister Judeau pushed for the magic regulation law to be passed. 'Contain the chaos', he said. Momax looked ready to strangle him for even suggesting it. He's become the most daring man in the room since your incapacitation. Sorry Metz, but it's true."

 _Daring and stupid_ , she amends silently. Lady S is a medical mage. She can't claim to understand magic beyond using it as a crutch for relieving illnesses. Any matter concerning the kingdom's diminishing magic should not concern her. But any half-wit would know that containing Faerie magic is like cupping air. You may find a way to hold it in, but it will always leak out.

Teien said just as much, earlier. The kitsune had logically pointed out that the people still look to the opinions of the Queen of Stormhold as rightful sovereign of the oldest seat of magical power in Faerie.

Momax had disagreed. It seemed the giants were still bitter about not being allowed inside Stormhold's walls since the siege of Mount Arc.

He had raised quite a point about not relying on Stormhold for the final decision. Correspondence with Stormhold is strict now, and they hadn't sent a representative the past few Faerie summits. They are, in all technicality, operating outside Faerie rules now, and that they think themselves above the law when the really are not. By the end of his tirade, the giant had been red in the face and looked about ready to lead an insurgence to the castle.

Lady S had recalled the frightening way Teien had growled, her eyes flashing yellow through her mask. _"Need I remind you Councilman Momax, that the Council was formed out of necessity merely decades ago? The 'laws' it has put in effect hasn't yet borne fruit ripe enough for plucking."_

And thus began another round of bickering in the room. It had taken time enough that the meeting dragged on for another hour, and the Magister Simon had stayed back to broker a deal, leaving Sir Ethan to make the visit to Metz for both of them.

Lady S finally releases her grip on Metz's wrist when her hand brushes over something in his clutched fist. Something was stuck. She felt around and recognized the shape as… a key? _What the…_

Slowly, she pries the key and a piece of parchment from Metz fingers and is startled to see familiar handwriting, one she recognized from all the notes taken during the meeting.

 _THE WALLS HAVE EARS_

 _STAY SILENT_

Lady S feels a chill go down her back. Wasn't she just thinking of all the harm talking could've done earlier?

The wards didn't signal anybody else entering, and the only ones who even knew the sickroom existed were her, Magister Simon and Sir Ethan, and the wicker warriors. Nobody else had visited the entire day.

Which meant that Sir Ethan had left the note. Why would he tell her to be silent?

She takes a closer look at the key.

Or at least she thinks it's a key. It didn't look like any key she had seen before. The piece of metal was sharp and flat, with grooves and a serrated side. It reminded her of a small and dull knife her father had kept outside their door, which he used for picking the lock whenever her mother kicked him out after a fight. He used it so often that the knife' side had been all twisted up.

She pocketed the strange key and turned the paper over. On it was a wet imprint of letters, as if someone had pressed the parchment to another paper where the ink had almost dried.

 _How many miles to Babylon? It depends on wherever you're standing._

 _Keep an eye out for the Fellowship of the Castle, dear Lady, and trust no one. Not even I._

Cryptic statements from none other than Magister Simon's lapdog. She was suddenly overcome with an urge to strangle the monk. She had better things to do with her time than to solve a worthless puzzle.

And what's this about the Fellowship of the Castle? They were supposed to have disbanded years ago. In fact, the last stubs of the Babylon candles used to swear in wicker warriors had supposedly come from them, and most of the old Knights considered the wicks as the new Fellowship.

So was she to look out for the wicks? And why?

Lady S decides to make a sneak trip to the restricted section in the Vault of Knowledge after her shift. After all, the three Keepers were all on vacations or sent home due to the coming summit. What they don't know, won't bother them at night.

* * *

Lin Storm, in a classic disobedience for the system, is turning her mission to a vacation. Never mind that she is working under time-sensitive conditions to collect powerful magical artifacts and fighting dangerous people for them- if the Council saw fit to pay her to go on a trip across the continent to risk her life, she'll do her storming best to find some fun in it.

She had sent her Solwing out to hunt, checked in an inn under her alias and set about to check the perimeter of the town, which didn't take long at all. Panapulse is a small town, merely a stopping place for tourists, on the way to see the more beautiful waterfalls and forests of Whitecliff in the South, or the glittering subterranean caves of the North. It was so insignificant a place that it ended up being Named by the local merfolk and half-breed instead of a formal Naming, so outshined it was by its neighbors.

Ordinary by comparison. Lin could relate.

It;s a nice enough town, she supposes. The locals are either mer-folk or half-breeds, and there are several houses built on the sea, suspended on wood. A port by the end of the beach had a staircase and a slide going down, a place for children to swim and play around with mermaid fingerlings. Half of the buildings are carved into the cliffs and the other half are wooden structures teetering on spindly legs in the water and on shore.

The beach is crowded with adults and teenagers pulling ropes, hauling in today's catch. There are children by the seaside hanging up curtains of seaweed in varying colors, and salting the fish for export. Merfolk swim from house to house to sea. It was quiet, and ordinary. Full of _people_.

 _So why would King Tristran hide such a powerful object here?_ The artifacts were

Or maybe the objects were randomly scattered. Lin can't claim to know how old, human-born kings were supposed to think. She did find Circe's staff in a coal mine, of all places. Had to fight a smuggler for it too, but Lin was already a formidable brawler before she was even inducted into the wicks, so. There's that.

Small as Panapulse is, it didn't take long to find the abandoned place the old Arduennian Knight was speaking of. The small building is situated next to a small tide pool, and it _feels_ as old as the cliffs surrounding the town _looks_.

The walls are made of barnacle-covered driftwood, and the roof dried, woven palm leaves. No door. Shabby-looking but, as Lin suspects, sturdy enough to withstand the tides, standing still. It looks worn enough to be dangerous, but there are broken seashells, dried fruit peelings, and seaweed blankets strewn around that suggests that children might have been playing around the area.

She steps inside the rickety structure and is taken aback by the ambient- and well-lit- area. Seaglass embedded on the windows and the roof reflects the light from outside, shining lights on the room like an underwater cave. A small seaglass wind chime is set in the middle of the roof.

Up ahead, a small, gleaming mosaic of differently-colored seaglass hangs on the altar. And beneath it is… _the ocean?_

The room does not have a floor. Instead, there seemed to be a small lake inside the room. It was light enough that Lin can make out the blue-green of the waters, which means that there must be a deep drop in. _They must have built it on the tidal pools themselves,_ Lin thinks, taking a step back and observing the walls which were indeed raised on the edge of the tidal pool right above the water.

What an odd place to worship. What was the point of all this water? The nameless old gods must have wanted their worshipers to drown in their adoration, or the locals willing to drown for the nameless old gods. The merfolk weren't known to worship anyone but the water. Maybe the altar is symbolic.

"It's not that deep," says a voice in front of her.

Lin looks up and sees a hooded figure sitting on a rock, facing the altar. How did she not notice _that_ before? "How long have you been here?" she asks.

"Longer than you."

A worshipper. Lin might have to come back later. "Forgive me for intruding on your prayers."

She is about to step back outside when she heard the figure- a woman- laugh. "Prayers? The old gods have long since outgrown the need for worship. I have not come here to pray."

Wicker manners dictate that Lin leave her in peace and be on her merry way. In Faerie, an individual's business is their business. It is frowned upon to pry. Curiosity had no place for the protectors of Faerie.

 _But I am not technically a wicker warrior now am I? I'm Harriet, a tourist stopping for rest on the way to Whitecliff._

Feeling justified, she asks, "Then what are you doing here?"

The hooded woman dips a foot in the water. "I am waiting for the tide to sweep me away until I have become one with the sea in its eternal glory." Her splashes the water with that foot, and Lin notices slight scars.

"That's a thing?"

The woman shrugs. "Probably, for some people. But not me, because I was joking." She turns to Lin and removes her hood, and Lin is struck dumb by how beautiful she is, and how _unsettling_ it feels underneath the weight of her blank, white stare.

"You're blind?" Lin blurts out.

"Are you not?" the ( _young,_ Lin amends) woman retorts.

"No, I'm not. How would I know you're blind if I was too?"

"Maybe you have a sixth sense."

"Unlikely," Lin lies, laughing it off. "But how did you get over there?"

"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I don't know how to swim."

"Then how did you get in here?"

"Through the front door."

"I meant," Lin says slowly, "how did you get in here without stumbling."

"Oh, I wasn't blind when I got in here," the woman says matter-of-factly.

"You're not making any sense, dear Lady."

"The water didn't make me blind," the woman adds, "I just turned off my sight to enjoy the sound of the sea lapping around the place."

The seawater must have rotted Lin's brain. It may have already affected the woman. Maybe she was the village crazy lady?

The woman chuckles, as though hearing her thoughts. "I'm not crazy."

 _Maybe she does._ "Okay, now I'm confused. Are you a wraith? A banshee? How can you read my mind?" Lin asks, slamming her mental walls up and bending in a defensive stance. She didn't sense any malicious aura in the area, but the woman was neither a light nor a dark caster, and Lin couldn't _sense her_ …

"Because, sweetheart," she grins, and kicks the water, the waves swirling into a small whirlpool. "I'm a witch."

Lin shoots out her left hand and jumps on a ledge by the wall. The witch dives into the lake, barely missing _Northern Wind_. Summoning back her dagger, she curses all her luck that she can't send iron down in saltwater.

The witch pops her head out of the water. "Whoa, what have I done to you?" She dives down to dodge the flurry of knives Lin sent her way. The water stills as the witch and Lin's knives disappear beneath the depths, and Lin observes the water for any floating body.

A dark shape floats out of the water, but it turned out to be the witch's cloak. Instead of a body, the water coughs up all eight knives on the rock beside her. Lin picks them up with her gloved hand and throws it to the dark silhouette in the water again.

The witch evades them easily, surprisingly adept. Lin, losing patience, throws a ball of lightning to the water without thinking. The ball had almost hit the water before she realizes that the lake might be connected to the ocean outside, and might piss off if not outright _kill_ the people swimming outside.

She barely has enough time to curse herself when a pale hand shoots out of the water and grabs the ball. The witch resurfaces and looks in Lin's general direction. "Using me for target practice is one thing, but endangering the lives of civilians?" She _tsk_ ed at the wall next to Lin. "That's not very noble, especially for a wicker warrior."

Lin bristles at the comment, color rising on her cheeks. She puts up a strong shield around her and floats to the other side of the cavern, eyeing the ball of lightning. The blind witch didn't seem to notice her switching places. "What is your purpose here?"

"Rest and relaxation."

Lin narrows her eyes.

The witch rolls hers. "You wicks are seriously paranoid," she says.

"How do I know that you're not here to cause me harm or stop me in my mission?" Lin demands.

The witch waves her outstretched hand. "I literally _just_ saved you loads of paperwork. See how I'm holding this ball you cast above the water so that it doesn't electrocute everyone?"

Lin blinks at the informal tone. "Well I can't exactly trust someone holding a ball of lightning over a body of water who is still alive."

The witch sighs. "I'm trying to avoid a fight here, if you haven't noticed. If I give you what you came here for, will you leave me alone in peace?"

Lin set her hands down. Maybe the witch is just a guardian, then. "What do you mean by that?"

The witch throws the ball upward. Lin braces herself for impact, but the seaglass absorbs the lightning, suddenly glowing an eerie blue color. The seaglass wind chime breaks and falls down to the water, the fragments lining up and lighting up to reveal a staircase, going downwards into the water.

Lin asks, "I never knew Panapulse had a guardian witch."

"I'm not from here." The witch beckons for Lin to come down, and Lin slowly lets down her physical shield, stepping on the sand. "I was forced to go on a vacation after the liminal space to my forest closed."

Of course. The unrest of the celestial bodies would undoubtedly re-arrange Faerie's roadways. "Well, that's just poor planning," Lin says bluntly, throwing caution and formality to the wind. "You should've known that would happen."

The witch scrunches up her nose in annoyance. "Blame your friend for that oversight."

"I'm sorry?" Lin asks, confused.

"I made a Vow with a wicker warrior to let his company pass the forest unharmed." She curls her lip and wades in the water. "He fulfilled his end quickly."

Lin whistles as she removes her boots. "Let me guess: fire powers, red hair, impeccable oak-damned manners?" The witch nodded, floating on the water. "Never thought Dante would leave anyone feeling unsatisfied."

The witch says in annoyed voice, "You make it sound as though we've had a sexual encounter."

Lin smiles, despite herself. She throws her hands up, saying, "If it's an agreement between two consenting adults, it's none of my business." She gets splashed with water in reply, eliciting another grin from her.

She gets in the lake, which was blessedly the right temperature. There's a slight thrum of magic that calms her, like the purifying pools back home. _How strange, to think that I'd be sitting in an old cabin lounging with a witch and trash talking my sworn brother._ Maybe it is a vacation, after all. "But wait," she asks. "If you don't mind me asking, what is it that you've asked for in return?"

"The first magic Void object he comes across on his stupid quest." Lin is startled out of her swimming and stares at the witch.

"You've become the Keeper of Alunsina's box?" she asks incredulously. The witch nods. "And you think you've got the bad end of the deal? Dante must've been insane, giving a powerful artifact to-"

"A dark caster?" the witch supplies, carefully neutral.

"-some girl he just met!" Lin says.

The witch blinks. Lin continues on, spilling everything out. "And to think that the Council's probably going to let this one slide! Not even Hippolyta gets this special treatment, and she's Metz' actual daughter. Is he really all that?"

The witch blinked, but Lin was unstoppable. "And now he's gone and given one of the most important relics of the Old Magic to the first stranger he meets? What about that duty shit he keeps spouting? I just, _can't_ fucking believe this."

She whirls to face the witch, who swims out of possible hitting range. "Is it a guy thing? Is that it?"

The witch's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Do they favor him because he's a likely successor?"

"You mean, if they're being sexist?"

"I don't know what that word is, but I feel like it's the right answer."

"It means discrimination based on whether you're a man or a woman," the witch explains. Lin nods.

The witch looks at her pity and shakes her head slowly. "No, sweetheart, I don't think they're being… sexist. However, I do think that you're going to regret saying all of this once you get out of the water."

It's Lin's turn to be confused. "What do you mean, when I get out of the water?"

"Haven't you realized how freely I've offered up information to you? And how you've answered my questions truthfully in return?" Lin thinks back on their earlier conversation, and what she knows of the witch. The woman doesn't seem to be a very public person and yet she did share sensitive information just as soon as Lin asked for it.

And Lin didn't doubt that she was telling the truth, not even once. Pushing aside her previous thoughts, she observes the water and the glowing crystals underneath. "Is this part of the artifact's power? A pool of truth?"

"Could be," shrugs the witch. "Look, let's just go under the sea and get this over with."

"I don't know…" Lin says, now hesitant to accompany the woman whom she just freely complained to. "I'd rather just drink for a week straight and not think about anything."

The witch pinches the bridge of her nose. "If it's any consolation, I'm feeling the same." She looks down to the water and holds out a hand to Lin. Lin sighs, accepts defeat and takes her hand, casting a bubble head charm on herself before diving underneath with the witch.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh wow. This took a lot longer to upload than I wanted. I might need to restrict myself to two long POVs or four short ones per chapter so as to avoid information congesting haha.

Good news though, is that I'm finally graduating in a few days! Summer is here, and after taking care of my application forms I'm going to have time to write so, you know, expect more AUs instead of updates to my multichapter works. :D That's if I don't spend the entire summer crying about moving away and leaving my friends and whole life behind lol. Please leave a review!


	9. grazing

Lord Defoe Carlton Craggistan the Third, scion of the noble house of Condura, heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the whole of Faerie and a High Mountain Lord, is deep in concentration, keeping the bathroom door locked, and praying that the Great Mage would not come knocking at the door.

 _This is humiliating._ That new servant from Brassbury had served him large prawns in warm coconut milk for breakfast, and now he's been in the toilet for almost an hour. _That ignoramus should have disobeyed my orders and cooked the prawns in broth instead_ , Defoe silently seethes, forgetting the fact that he had demanded the dish be served for breakfast the previous night and had threatened to fire the Brassian servant if he cannot follow his Lord's wishes to the letter. _I can't face the other Mountain Lords smelling like I've just mucked out horseshit from the stables._

The filigree lock on the door wavers, and Defoe curses the Oak, before concentrating again. The magical thread couldn't be pulled a second earlier, as a muffled conversation is audible through the slight crack of the bathroom door.

"…worthless collectors have fled."

"They were traders, my Lord." Defoe recognized those voices. What in the world would Rassimov, Highest Lord of the Mountains talk about with _Defoe's newly-promoted_ Captain of the Guard, of all people?

"Does it matter what they are called?" snaps Rassimov. Defoe flinches, loses a bit of his grip on the magical thread for a second. Thankfully, the door didn't creak. "This would be the third team that failed to extract the artifacts, and their continued incompetence is grating. Revealing themselves to a mage just further humiliates our standing. The Great Mage won't stand for this."

The _clang_ of Grier's armor is loud enough to faintly echo in the bathroom. "The brothers have fought well, the best that any normal hunter could do against a wicker warrior. They were lucky to have gotten away injured, sir."

"We have all been injured in fights. That should not have been any different."

"Against Dante Vale? That would count as a victory."

Defoe's pointed ears pick up, as a dog would listen to the distinct whistle of a master, and he strains to listen to the conversation. _They must be talking about Edifier. What was Dante Vale doing there? My spies told me he was back North._ His curiosity piqued, he contemplates opening the door a smidgen more.

The muffled steps slow down by his door. Defoe tightens his grip on the thread, frozen in place. A pause, and then – "What is that smell?" says Grier.

To his bad luck, however, Rassimov and Grier's steps were already walking well past his bathroom door, and Defoe could hear no more of their interesting conversation. With a forceful tug, the door closes and the magic thread snaps, and Defoe finds himself staring at the snippets of his messy reflection in the golden designs of the bathroom door.

The door had shining edges and oblate designs– made of faerie gold so as to deter any would-be stealers– depicting a woman with long flowing hair. It was a patterned design insisted on by his great-great-great-great paternal grandmother and decorated over useless parts of the house. It is a testament of the extravagance and fancies of the noble house of Condura, and how bored their noble ladies were back in the day.

But Defoe is not thinking of his great house or his gold, or the shit he's currently taking. His mind is already picking apart the conversation, bit by bit, and piecing them back together.

 _Dante Vale?_ _In Edifier? What would he even do in such a small town, unless it's for a vacation?_ Defoe frowns, deep in thought. No doubt that those imbeciles have failed, if they were up against _him_. _He was probably aware of the organization's plan to go for Alunsina's box, weakly guarded._ Damn the man, who must have had better spies than Defoe did.

Regardless, Dante Vale was the most loyally fierce lapdog of all the wicker warriors, that disgusting pack, bred and trained by the Musty Knight of Thorngate himself since his parents died at the Siege of Mount Arc. _No doubt he would have sent word of this to the Council at immediate notice, thereby destroying all of the Mountain lord's plans except…_

Defoe fancies himself a smart man, who manages to uphold both the title of Lord of the Noble House of Condura and the coveted title of Mountain Lord, one of the seven who was given lands to preside on over the Mountain-That-Was-Once-Mount-Arc.

(He takes special pride in governing over his manor and various lands for longer than any of his predecessors, nevermind that the reason those predecessors died on or before the age of five and thirty was due to fighting off a deadly brain sickness, or fighting off villagers looking to take back the lands that the house of Condura had seized.)

And unlike the other six, content to rule while sitting on their asses all day, Defoe took the time to learn how to fight with a sword and _be good at it_ , making him the first Lord Condura to ever take up arms before he has come of age, and to go beyond the basic self-defense swishes that can be showcased in a tourney. The House of Condura did so love their tourneys, back in the day.

It takes a smart noble to realize that substance over appearance matters when using the language of war.

And now that those other mountain dimwits have failed to secure the artifacts using their so-called 'underground connections', Defoe thanks the oak for the opportunity to prove himself higher than any of them, and to finally get back at Dante Vale.

As he stands up to lace his breeches and thoroughly wash his hands, he jerks back as he remembers Rassimov talking with Captain Grier, and then dismisses it as too trivial– too caught up in his thoughts of hunting down Dante Vale to care.

Rassimov probably meant for the message to be relayed to him, after all.

He looks out the stained glass window just in time to see Rassimov's black horse stampeding along the dirt road, the hooves splashing mud everywhere, after last night's rain. It reminded him of that time on that hunting trip after last year's storm. The Kingsroad had flooded, and everybody was stuck in the mud. Except for Rassimov, Highest of the Mountain Lords, atop that black steed. Clear of any mud or dirt.

Now that every dark caster who matters knows about the significance of the light artifacts, Dante would no doubt be avoiding the Kingsroad. Defoe knows he won't go straight for the Council's headquarters up North, not when he was last seen fighting the hunters. No doubt his curiosity would lead him to the nearest artifact, in Brassbury. Hathor's diadem is guarded by the Priestesses of the Old Magic, and it would be a trial and a half to get those stuck-up witches to give up the artifact.

No matter. Defoe has his ways.

He walks to his holding-court to find his Captain of the Guard and his troops, already standing at attention. "Lord Defoe, a message fr-"He begins, stopping when Defoe waves a hand in dismissal.

"I already know about the mishap in Edifier, Captain. And I have already taken steps to ensure the same thing will not happen in our mission."

"A mission, my Lord?"

Defoe grins, unknowing that his visage matches that of Lord Defoe Carlton Craggistan the First in the dusty old painting behind him. "We'll be getting the artifact in Brassbury by ourselves."

Grier frowns. "Whatever for, my Lord? Those are not our orders."

"And yet, we'll still do it. That way, High Lord Rassimov won't be bothered with getting his hands dirty," Defoe replies, not bothering to mask his displeasure at Rassimov's title. "I know for a fact that Dante Vale will find a way to go there, no matter that Edifier's roads have been blocked. We'll find him."

"And the artifact, my Lord?"

"To be surrendered to the Great Mage, of course." Defoe turns to the corridor, on his way to find that Brassian maid and question him

Grier hesitantly nods and accepts his superior's orders, unknowing of the horrified looks shared by the oldest of Defoe's guards at the mention of the wick's name.

* * *

"Morgan be _damned_ , they've closed the Kingsroad?!" Lucas Casterwill shouts, the sound reaching through the floor boards of the second-floor quarters, amidst the other shouts of anger of the Edithian folks.

Lane sits up from her bed, mourning the sleep she could've had had it not been for her cousin's outrage down below. She yawns and stretches, and her feet brushes against a sturdy back. One that she's become familiar with over the years.

Dellix catches her by the ankle before she kicks him in the face. He says, "You're finally awake. I thought I would've had to order LeBlanche dump cold sugar water on you again." There's a twinkling in his eyes that Lane has learned from decades of travelling with him that means he's _only_ half-joking.

"It's not that late," Lane says. Indeed, judging from the sun's rays hitting the floor, it wasn't even noon yet. She has no idea what Dellix is complaining about, when her usual waking hours start in the afternoon. It's not her fault that her fae blood makes her partly nocturnal.

Dellix shrugs, and shuffles some papers in his hands. "Well, you missed all the fun. Lucas woke me up at dawn to start sniffing around for clues, but he was distracted by the commotion below."

Lane hums. She flops back down on the bed, the movement almost sending the papers in Dellix's hands flying. Dellix tightens his grip on the papers– the maps he had drawn according to Viviane's descriptions– and sends a rather lovely glare at Lane's way. "So, we're trapped here, then. In Edifier."

"Seems like it. Although I doubt that our travelling plans is what's made Lucas all upset."

"Of course it's not what made me upset." Lucas slams the door with his foot, cutting off the raucous noise from below as he steps in the room, holding two cups of steaming chocolate. He puts one on the table next to Dellix and floats the second one to Lane. "Edifier is locked up, and I cannot sense Sophie's aura anywhere. If she's not within the borders, then where could she be?"

Lane stares at the floating cup of chocolate before her in wonder. Having grown up with her Fae mother before being sent off to the Casterwill compound, she was taught that magic is a limited resource that should always be conserved in fear of it dying out. But Lucas had always used his magic for the smallest things, like cleaning his dagger or arranging all the books in the library, and he never seems to break a sweat.

 _Magic is like a muscle, Laney_ , Lucas once explained, when Lane first reprimanded him about his wasteful use of energy. _The more you practice it, the stronger it will grow._ It was after their first lesson on Magical History, and he was then using the winds to control the falling leaves of the maple tree, making them fall into a pile instead of to the ground.

 _But how is not wasted?_ Lane asked.

Lucas scoffed, with all the attitude of someone who grew up knowing that nothing in _his world_ is impossible, and asked, _Do you know where magic comes from?_

 _Nobody knows where magic comes from, dummy,_ Lane had replied, growing annoyed at her cousin's tone of voice. She didn't come all the way from Glasshide to be given a talk to by someone her own age, let alone someone who didn't grow up surrounded by the most perfectly magical creatures on Faerie.

 _If you don't know where it comes from, then how do you know if it's used up or not?_

Lane had wanted to reply– because I can feel myself growing weaker everyday– but found that that was due to the physical training and not the actual magic drain. Ever since then, Lane had found herself stuck to her cousin since.

 _I almost punched him too,_ Lane fondly remembers, grasping the cup and absorbing the warmth of it. _I don't think he knows how many beatings he's barely missed just by asking a question._ "Did you put in extra honey?" Lane asks.

Lucas scoffs, exactly as he did as a child and growing up, and says, "Like I'd forget it. LeBlanche had given me a spare jar of honey for the road as well. Certainly remembers how you lust for the oak-damned things."

"Such language," Lane scolds. "And I do not _lust_ for them."

"Hmm. Cousin dear, if you were asked to choose between Dellix and marrying an endless pot of honey, what would you choose."

Lane wisely keeps silent, as Lucas rolls his eyes.

"I've already come to terms with my placement in Lane's heart." Dellix sets down his papers to take a sip from his chocolate. "LeBlanche's chocolate. I forgot how sweet he makes them."

Lane takes a sip of her own, and the extra sugar pumped into her system stirs her more awake than ever. "I wish we could take LeBlanche with us," she sighs.

A resounding sigh comes from Lucas. "I asked him if he would consider it, but he's gotten it into his head that he'll wait for Sophie to come back here." He flops onto the bed, careful not to disturb Lane holding her full cup.

Dellix nudges Lucas' thigh to get the maps from underneath him and places them on the table. "But are you more concerned about _how_ she's doing or _what_ she's doing?"

"Or _who_ she's doing," Lane adds helpfully. Lucas glares at her to show just how helpful she's being. She sips her chocolate in lieu of a reply.

"Really, Lucas," Dellix says gently, settling on the bed and nudging Lucas' strawberry blond head with his knee, "Sophie's going to be fine."

"She's still studying," Lucas almost-wails, "Younger than us, and impulsive almost to a fault. She can't be going off onto missions alone!"

Neither she nor Dellix argue the conclusion. Sophie has definitely gone on a mission, and LeBlanche is hiding something about it. That much they can gather. Lane reaches out and knocks on the wooden headboard three times, checking to see if the protection and hearing wards they put up are still in place. "She's not alone, she has Sabriel."

"Her sworn guard won't be enough to face all of the perils she's going to face if she decides to look for the ring."

"The ring?" Lane blinks. "Lucas, she doesn't know anything about the ring, or of Lady Nimue's condition. What do you mean _if_?"

"Lady Nimue did say 'any Casterwill'," Dellix answers.

"Still doesn't make the ring any more known to her," Lane snaps. The sugar and Lucas' early morning complaints has started to get on her nerves. "How could she find something that she doesn't know exists?"

"Because she's _Sophie_ ," Lucas points out. "If anyone could find something, it'd be her." He laughs then, a genuine one, and a slight smile crosses his handsome face. "I'd wager my dagger that Viviane had already given her some kind of clue the minute that we stepped out of the compound."

Dellix snorts, glancing fondly at the maps. "You've realized that too? What a genius. Certainly the brightest Casterwill of our age. Crown Prince Edouard Lucas Adalard, everybody," he says wryly. He catches the pillow Lucas tries to hit him with.

"On to more pressing matters, Sophie couldn't have gone far with Cherit and Sabriel with her," Lane continues. "The Edithian borders are locked under orders of the Council, the Mountain Lords, _and the Queen of Stormhold_. With an order that pressing, the magical borders would've been closed two days ago, and the physical ones closed a day after that. How did Sophie manage to leave yesterday?"

"I think this is the answer." Dellix nudges Lucas to sit up, and places Viviane's map of Edifier on his lap. It showed Edifier as a broken oblate on the center, with Farrow lake in the west, Glasshide in the north and Silica in the east. The difference between this map and others is that Viviane and Dellix had put in a certain amount of scrying water in the ink, making the magical signatures of everything in the place visible.

Dellix points to a smoky part of the map. "Silica forest is already closed, and its liminal spaces are disrupted. The same goes for Glasshide." He points to a darker part next to it. "Whatever gets in can't get out, and Sophie's magical signature isn't anywhere in here."

Lane , stifling a laugh, pokes a line of shimmering blue in the map. "And the Kingsroad? Why is it blue?"

"It's flooded over with water from the river leading away from Edifier." Dellix points to Farrow Lake, now a translucent green. "Farrow used to be the center of a ley line, before Glasshide and Edifier expanded its borders. Now that the river's flooded over, and Edifier's closed, the ley line's open again," he says, poking several shimmering points of light in the map– from Farrow to Silica to Arduenna in the east, making a line in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Lane's eyes widen at the implications. Ley lines meant an amplification of power, a rather big change, which means that… "We can get out of here?"

Dellix nods sagely, and both of them raise their hands to poke the spots again. "The same way I suspect Sophie did. Using-"

"Okay, that's enough," Lucas says, catching Dellix's wrist with one hand and Lane's in the other. "I've had enough of you poking about my thighs like children." He gets up, and with a wave of his hand starts packing up all of their things. Lane runs a hand down the bed, now made to perfection.

"We're leaving already?" she asks, glancing longingly at her unfinished cup of chocolate.

"I'll make you more if you tell LeBlanche about our leaving," Lucas says, shrugging on a brown cloak.

"But you don't use as much honey!" Still, she does what she's asked. She hovers out of the room– she supposes it's one of the few perks of being half-fae– but not before hearing Dellix ask, "And what if we run into Sophie on the road?"

"Then we tell her nothing. She's smart enough to build a whole picture with only a few pieces. If she finds out about Mithras' ring, she'll go with us or worse, she'll go back to the compound. And we _can't_ let her go back."

 _Is that the royal we, cousin dear?_ Lane thinks, before fluttering off to find LeBlanche.


End file.
